WAYS  AND  DAYS 
OUT  OF  LONDON 


WAYS  AND  DAYS 
OUT  OF  LONDON 


BY 
AIDA   RODMAN    DE    MILT 


ILLUSTRATED    FROM    PHOTOGRAPHS 
MADE    BY    THE    AUTHOR 


NEW    YORK 

THE   BAKER   &   TAYLOR   COMPANY 
1910 


COPYRIGHT,    1910,    BY 

THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 


Published,  October,  1910 


THE  TROW  PRESS,  HEW  YORK 


TO 
SONI  A 


CONTENTS 


I. — AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  HAMPTON  COURT  1 
II. — THE  THAMES  FROM  MAIDENHEAD  TO 

STAINES 14 

III. — RAINHAM  AND  ROCHESTER     ...  34 

IV. — ROYAL  ASCOT 57 

V. — KEW  GARDENS  AND  RICHMOND    .       .  67 

VI. — BY  COACH  TO  GUILDFORD     ...  79 

VH.— ELY 102 

VIII. — CAMBRIDGE        .               ....  116 
IX. — STOKE    POGES,    BURNHAM    BEECHES, 

ETON,  AND  WINDSOR  ....  137 

X. — ST.  ALBANS 159 

XI. — THE  HENLEY  REGATTA  AND  DOWN  THE 

THAMES  TO  MAIDENHEAD  .       .       .  181 
XII. — EPPING    FOREST,    WALTHAM    ABBEY, 

WALTHAM  CROSS  AND  TEMPLE  BAR  203 

XIII. — DULWICH  AND  CRYSTAL  PALACE  .       .  221 

XIV. — COLCHESTER      .               ....  248 

XV. — BY  RIVER  TO  HAMPTON  COURT   .       .  266 

XVI. — GREENSTEAD 284 

XVII.— GREENWICH 297 

XVIII. — DUNSTABLE    AND    FENNY    STRATFORD     .  334 

XIX. — CANTERBURY 357 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PACK 


Putney  Bridge   .     Frontispiece  in  Color 

I. — At  fifteen  minutes  after  six  we  entered 

the  Lion  Gates 8 

Under  the  trees  a  houseboat  was  moored       12 

II. — A  group  of  boatmen  chatted  in  the 

noon's  hot  sun 20 

They  must  be  suffragettes  glorying  in 
the  subjugation  of  man  ...  24 

Our  first  glimpse  of  Windsor's  towers 
seemed  like  a  vision  of  Valhalla  .  28 

The  keynote  of  the  river  is  rest     .        .       32 

III. — The  castle  and  cathedral  were  at  Roch- 
ester just  across  the  Medway     .        .       36 
We    caught    a    refreshing    glimpse    of 

broad  shady  lawn          ....       40 
Children  were  feeding  a  flock  of  pigeons      48 
Happily  there  was  much  beyond  the 
reach  of  their  long  arms       ...       52 

IV. — We  passed  Staines  and  the  train  crossed 

the  Thames 60 

They  drove  in  beside  the  Royal  En- 
closure ....  64 

V. — Who  would  be  interested  in  a  palace 
when  they  could  roam  in  such  a  gar- 
den?   69 

iz 


Illustrations 


FACING 
PAGX 


Wondering  whether  we  were  on  Chol- 

mondely  Walk 72 

Why  do  they  carry  so  many  extra  tires?  76 

The  river  bent  like  a  silver  bow     .        .  78 

VI. — Horses  were  changed  at  the  Fox-and- 

Hounds  at  Surbiton  .  .  88 

And  now  we  were  driving  down  the 
steep  High  Street  of  Guildford  .  .  94 

We  set  forth  to  view  the  square  keep 
of  Guildford's  Castle  .  .99 

VII. — The  delicate  curves  of  the  carven  stone 

stairway  leading  to  the  organ  loft  .  105 
The  beauty  of  the  "only  Gothic  dome  in 

existence" 110 

At  the  bottom  of  the  street  a  canal-like 

river  proved  to  be  the  Ouse  .  .  112 
The  present  peace  is  the  more  palpable 

because  of  what  has  been    .        .        .115 

VIII.— At  last  a  market  day!  .  .  116 

Clare's  bridge  was  set  in  a  glory  of  green  124 
King's  gateway  is  more  eloquent  of 

King  Hal  than  of  Edward  IV  .  127 
We  sank  upon  a  bench  where  we  could 

watch  the  tennis-playing     .        .       .  132 

IX. — The  traveler  steps  out  of  his  landaulet 

before  a  tiny  ivy-smothered  lodge      .     138 
From  Gray  the  lych  gate  which  he  never 
saw  had  shut  us  out  141 


Illustrations  xi 

FACING 

PAQK 

Those  hoary  Burnham  Beeches  gnarled 
and  knotted  as  any  rheumatic  gaffer  143 

To  us  the  round  tower  was  the  most 
triumphant  feature  of  the  whole 
castle  .  .  152 

X. — We  were  so  fickle  as  to  become  instantly 
enamored  of  sundry  ancient  timbered 
houses 160 

Of  the  abbey  itself  only  the  gateway 
remains 166 

A  considerable  fragment  of  Roman  wall 
marks  the  boundary  of  Verulam  .  174 

"  The  Fighting  Cocks  "  claims  to  be  the 
oldest  inn  in  England  ....  179 

Across  the  river  a  row  of  houseboats 
was  moored  to  the  poplar-bordered 
shore  .  .  185 

XI. — One  of  the  boats  won  the  race       .        .     190 
Rafts  loaded  with  punts  returning  from 

Henley    .  .  .196 

Bisham  Abbey  backed  by  tall  trees      .     199 

XII. — Where  shadows  at  noontide  spread  twi- 
light ...  .208 

Our  gropings  were  indirectly  the  means 
of  the  day's  most  delightful  dis- 
covery   215 

About  the  beautiful  Eleanor  Cross 
clusters  a  village 218 

We  found  the  broad  stone  gate  that  had 
spanned  the  Strand  ....  220 


xii  Illustrations 


FACING 
PAGE 


XIII. — White  flanneled  students  were  playing 

cricket  in  front  of  the  college      .        .     230 

At  a  place  called  Sydnam  Wells  much 
frequented  in  summer  .  .  .  242 

XIV. — One  remains,  the  Balkon  Gate       .        .     251 

Delightfully  incongruous  was  a  motor 
wagon  at  the  base  of  "King  Cole's 
Castle"  ....  .255 

We  came  suddenly  upon  the  Castle      .     260 

The  best  view  of  the  herring-bone 
masonry 260 

XV. — The  Bishops'  Palace  might  be  many 

miles  from  the  roar  of  Bayswater  Road     269 
A  group  of  poplars  seemed  to  have  come 

forward  to  welcome  us          ...     272 
Twickenham's  oft-sung    Ferry  is  not 
doing  a  phenomenal  business      .       .     276 

Stately  are  the  avenues     ....     282 
The  lane  dipped  suddenly        .       .       .     289 

XVI. — These  sturdy  Saxon  timbers  that  have 

stood  corner  to  corner  a  thousand  years     293 

XVII. — The  only  portion  of  this  house  of  magic 
that  is  brave  enough  to  show  its  face 
to  the  public 309 

This  great-hearted  little  fighter      .       .     320 

Our  last  view  of  Greenwich  Hospital 
was  the  best  of  all  .  331 


Illustrations  xiii 

FACING 
CHAPTER  PAG» 

XVIII. — The  gateway  is  all  that  remains  of  the 

old  Priory 340 

Like  a  slender  white  arrow  the  great 
Roman  road  pointed  northward  .  348 

The  deep  red  of  a  bridge  took  on  a 
deeper  tone  in  its  mirror,  the  canal  355 

XIX. — We  spied  the  Cathedral  beyond  Mercery 

Lane 359 

A  swift  intake  of  breath;  and  then  we 
both  said  "Oh!" 371 

The  City  Wall  bends  outward  to  avoid 
Dane  John 379 

The  most  picturesque  bit  of  architecture 
along  the  High  Street  ....  384 


WAYS  AND  DAYS 
OUT  OF  LONDON 


CHAPTER   I 

Introduction  to  Hampton  Court 

HAVE  you  been  in  London  in  May? 
Then  you  know  how  powerful  is  her 
enchantment,  especially  over  strangers,  how 
subtle  the  narcosis  she  instils.  Stimulated  at 
first  by  the  novelty  of  her  streets,  her  sounds, 
her  splendid  solemn  restlessness,  we  gradually 
yield  to  her  ineffable  charm,  her  varying  moods, 
her  caprices  that — unlike  the  sparkle  of  Paris 
or  the  sentiment  of  Venice — weave  about  us 
silken  thread  by  silken  thread  a  fabric  of  utter 
oblivion  to  all  save  the  siren  city  herself.  Yet 
a  time  comes  when  the  strangers  emerge  from 
her  thrall  and  memory  revives  of  that  long- 
forgotten  desire  to  see  the  land  which  crystal- 
lizes in  this  leviathan  London,  sovereign  city 
of  the  seas.  Impatient  of  succumbing  to  the 
spell  of  the  sorceress  we  strike  out  blindly, 
eager  to  escape  from  what  seems  now  a  verita- 
ble prison.  But  notwithstanding  her  dimin- 


2         Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ished  charm  she  has  us  still  enmeshed  in  strands 
that  will  not  loosen.  Continually  baffled  and 
beaten  back,  we  almost  yield  again,  when  lo! 
the  gate  swings  outward  at  a  touch,  and  light- 
hearted  we  stride  forth  upon  the  open  road 
into  the  infinite  Beyond. 

'  We  cannot  spare  more  than  a  week  to 
London,"  Sonia  had  declared  when  we  sat  in 
our  deck  chairs  conning  the  names  of  places 
which  our  random  list  stated  to  be  indispens- 
able. 

'  Clovelly,  Keswick,  Chagford,  Boston, 
Broadway.'  Don't  forget  Lindisfarne  and 
Malvern.  I  presume  you  have  considered  the 
relative  positions  on  the  map  of  these  desid- 
erata? You  are  expecting,  I  infer,  to  explore 
the  whole  of  that  blessed  British  isle  in  three 
months."  Thus  Diana. 

"  I  hate  maps ;  but  I  love  to  travel.  And 
distances  are  nothing  in  a  land  that  is  no  bigger 
than  our  New  England.  We  have  enough  of 
city  life  in  New  York;  but  we  must  keep  our 
promise  to  Miranda  and  go  first  to  London. 
Let  us  be  very  firm  in  our  refusal  if  she  tries 
to  persuade  us  to  stay  there  more  than  a 
week." 

Miranda  met  us  at  Paddington,  and  after 
tea  she  started  with  us  on  a  hunt  for  lodgings, 
which  were  found  just  around  the  corner  from 


An  Introduction  to  Hampton  Court       3 

her  home  and  that  of  the  Hanford-Burhams, 
where  we  remained — eleven  weeks! 

Tourist  London,  we  soon  discovered,  may 
be  seen  by  whomsoever  is  sufficiently  agile  and 
eager,  in  a  few  days.  The  Tower,  the  Temple, 
the  galleries,  museums,  and  the  Abbey  were 
"  done  "  and  digested  by  us  with  a  celerity  and 
thoroughness  quite  amazing  to  our  English 
friends.  They  had  never  strolled  dream- 
ily through  Cheyne  Walk  or  thrilled  with 
the  memories  that  throng  about  Smithfield 
and  Tyburn.  They  had  always  intended, 
they  said,  to  see  the  Charter  House  some 
day,  and  perhaps  St.  Bartholomew's  the 
Great. 

"  How  do  you  girls  manage  to  find  all  these 
places?  "  they  queried  wonderingly. 

"  A  map,  several  Bobbies,  and  a  sufficient 
number  of  'busses,"  was  Diana's  reply. 

Such  excursions  as  these  they  captioned 
"  sight-seeing."  We  gave  to  their  term  a 
wider  significance  which  extended  to  private 
drawing-rooms,  morning  rides  in  the  Row, 
afternoon  drives  in  the  Park  when  the  Queen's 
carriage  was  to  be  seen.  In  fact,  sight- 
seeing and  London  were  synonymous,  for 
there  was  always  something  of  interest  to  be 
seen. 

As  the  bright  days  of  early  summer  winged 


4         Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

away,  that  splendid  show  which  is  London 
during  the  Season — and  only  during  the  Sea- 
son— so  filled  and  satisfied  our  souls  that  we 
forgot  the  glimpses  of  green  uplands,  silver- 
blue  streams,  and  flowery  fields  which  we  had 
beheld  with  abundant  enthusiasm  in  transit 
from  steamer  to  metropolis ;  forgot  that  we  had 
that  day  deplored  our  promise  to  visit  London 
and  determined  to  shorten  the  visit  in  order 
that  we  might  have  leisure  to  enjoy  the  beauty 
of  England's  landscape,  the  quaintness  of  her 
tiny  thatched  villages,  the  charm  of  her  cathe- 
drals and  castles.  The  geraniums  and  daisies 
growing  on  countless  window  ledges  in  May- 
fair;  the  many  parks  and  gardens,  which 
seemed  to  verify  the  saying  that  nowhere  in 
London  is  it  impossible  to  see  something  green 
growing;  even  the  aroma  of  the  strawberry 
carts  heaped  with  ruddy  fruit,  far  from  sug- 
gesting to  us  the  loveliness  without  London, 
but  heightened  her  charm,  benumbing  our 
spirits  to  the  very  existence  of  elsewhere 
delights. 

Where  the  pleasant  little  street  called  Red- 
cliffe  Gardens  ends  at  the  Brompton  Road  a 
woman  sits  every  day  beside  her  cartload  of 
flowers  in  the  shade  of  the  corner  building. 
At  first,  hasting  toward  or  from  our  lodgings 
we  but  glanced  at  the  massed  purples,  yel- 


An  Introduction  to  Hampton  Court      5 

lows,  crimson,  or  white,  merely  remarking: 
"  Pretty,  aren't  they?  "  Gradually  we  passed 
more  slowly.  Then  we  lingered  to  admire,  to 
be  tempted,  to  possess ;  and  lo !  diurnal  armfuls 
were  henceforth  borne  home.  One  day  our 
prim  drawing-room  would  be  dignified  by 
bowls  full  of  gold-brown  wall  flowers  whose 
velvet  faces  and  faint  fragrance  suggested 
walled  gardens  of  which  we  had  read  and 
heard,  but  had  not  yet  seen.  Another  day  our 
fancy  favored  flame-red  poppies.  As  the 
weather  grew  warmer  we  reminded  each  other 
that  London  was  not  the  only  place  in  Eng- 
land which  offered  enjoyable  qualities;  but 
such  remarks  made  in  half-hearted  indiffer- 
ence produced  no  greater  effect  than  the  nar- 
ration of  a  dream.  We  gloated  in  the  great 
roar  of  traffic  along  Piccadilly,  in  the  cloop 
of  hoofs  on  the  wood-paved  thoroughfares,  in 
the  color  and  clamor  by  day  as  in  the  sparkle 
and  splendor  by  night.  Yet  a  stimulus  was 
stirring  amid  the  London  lethargy.  The  flow- 
ers in  our  rooms  awoke  thoughts  of  verdant 
fields,  of  blossoming  hedgerows,  of  growing 
things.  But  even  as  we  paused  to  discover 
these  reminders  our  maid  was  on  the  pavement 
whistling  for  a  cab  whose  approach  tinkled  a 
merry  crescendo.  At  Lord's  an  inter-univer- 
sity game,  with  tea  in  Mrs.  Somebody's  tent, 


6         Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

seemed  so  delightful  as  to  be  theatrically  un- 
real. 

Silently,  however,  the  leaven  was  becoming 
effective.  It  remained  for  the  morrow's  dozens 
of  blue  and  yellow  iris  to  achieve  a  tonic  tran- 
sition. The  rare  privilege  of  an  evening  at 
home  and  alone  supplied  opportunity  for  sub- 
tle influences.  Sonia  sat  at  her  writing  table 
scribbling  a  message  to  a  trans-oceanic  Man. 
Diana  desultorily  endeavored  to  disentangle 
an  expense  account  wherein  the  multiplication 
and  division  of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence 
proved  somewhat  disturbing.  A  motor  bla- 
zoned its  way  through  the  quiet  street;  a  dog 
barked  sharply.  A  sudden  whiff  of  wind  dis- 
lodged a  curtain,  which  caught  a  cluster  of  our 
golden  iris  in  its  uplift  and  scattered  the  flow- 
ers about  us,  whereat  we  displayed  some  annoy- 
ance. One  flower  had  fallen  on  Sonia's  letter; 
another  on  Diana's  lap.  We  gathered  those 
that  were  on  the  floor  and  restored  them  all 
to  the  bowl  from  which  they  had  been  haled. 
Sonia  brought  her  writing  materials  nearer  to 
the  flowers,  whose  aureate  glow  under  a  lamp 
irradiated  the  room.  Dreamily  she  watched 
Diana's  hands  adjusting  some  of  the  purple 
iris  among  the  golden  blooms.  A  long  silence 
enveloped  us  as  we  gazed  into  their  pure 
hearts.  The  marvel  of  these  ethereal  yet 


An  Introduction  to  Hampton  Court       7 

stately  flowers  possessed  our  spirits,  guided 
them  to  green  river  banks  where  slender  reeds 
vibrated  to  the  undulous  flow  of  current; 
where  we  heard  amorous  bird  notes  and 
glimpsed  flashes  of  fleeting  wings,  while  white 
swans  floated  languidly  on  the  quiet  waters 
and  the  aromatic  air  whispered: 

"  Is  London  so  fair  that  ye  have  no  need 
of  me? " 

Diana  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  I  accept 
the  challenge,"  she  said. 

'Were  you  thinking  of  that,  too?"  asked 
Sonia.  '  When  the  iris  fell  on  my  letter  it 
seemed  to  say :  '  I  hereby  challenge  you  to 
come  and  find  me;  to  venture  out  of  London 
into  England.' " 

What  was  to  be  done?  The  town  had  sud- 
denly become  obnoxious;  we  felt  shackled, 
stifled  within  its  walls.  Before  crossing  the 
sea  we  had  talked  enthusiastically  of  moors 
and  fens,  of  mountains  and  lakes.  These 
could  not  yet  be  considered,  for  we  were  still 
bound  by  our  promises  to  London.  Mrs. 
Mawlbury's  daughter  was  to  be  married  to 
an  M.  P.  at  St.  George's  about  the  middle  of 
July.  Our  engagement  pad  recorded  many 
coming  events  which  were  too  pleasant  to  be 
foregone,  such  as  the  Trooping  of  the  Colors 
to  celebrate  the  King's  birthday,  a  horse  show 


8         Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

at  Ranelagh,  polo  at  Hurlingham,  a  reception 
at  the  embassy,  and  so  on.  Were  there  not 
beautiful  places  near  London  which  could  be 
visited  on  our  free  days?  Then  the  silent 
whisper  of  the  iris  insisted: 

"  The  River;  England's  river." 

We  had  seen  the  Thames  when  we  crossed 
its  bridges  or  drove  along  the  embankment; 
aye,  had  we  not  seen  it  this  very  day  flowing 
muddily  past  the  terrace  of  Westminster  Pal- 
ace while  we  were  drinking  tea?  We  were 
capable  of  perceiving  its  charm  as  Whistler 
had  depicted  it  from  Seymour  Haden's  win- 
dow; yet  why  these  delicate  lily-like  flowers 
should  so  insistently  suggest  the  river  we  were 
unable  to  suppose. 

To  resolve  is  facile;  to  do  is  difficult.  We 
went  to  what  we  believed  to  be  the  fountain- 
head  of  information — our  dear  friends  who  had 
lived  many  years  in  London.  Of  them  we 
asked : 

'  What  is  there  to  see  near  London? " 

"Richmond,  my  dears;  and  Windsor. 
Everybody — that  is,  everybody  from  your 
part  of  the  world  goes  there." 

'  We  had  thought  of  the  river,"  tentatively 
suggested  Diana. 

'They  are  both  on  the  river;  and  so  is 
Hampton  Court.  We  have  not  been  to  Hamp- 


An  Introduction  to  Hampton  Court       9 

ton  Court  in  ages.  If  you  are  free  this  after- 
noon, let  us  all  go.  We  could  stop  for  you  at 
five-and-twenty  past  three." 

"  Is  it  so  near,  then?  Can  we  go  by 
boat?" 

"  No,"  with  a  tolerant  smile.  "  We  shall  go 
out  by  electric  tram.  You  can  see  the  river  if 
you  wish  from  the  gardens." 

While  Sonia  and  Diana  were  lunching  to- 
gether in  their  rooms  they  voiced  wonderment 
at  so  late  a  start. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  Diana,  "  to  lose  the  early 
part  of  this  fine  afternoon." 

'  There  is  no  hurry  here,  you  know.  We 
left  all  that  three  thousand  miles  behind.  The 
ways  of  these  good  people  must  be  as  good 
as  ours;  they  have  had  longer  opportunity  to 
perfect  them." 

This  is  how  our  English  ladies  "  took  "  us 
to  Hampton  Court:  a  'bus  to  the  High 
Street,  another  to  Hammersmith  Broadway, 
whence  a  tram  ambled  out  to  Hampton  Court. 
The  route  lay  through  a  new  and  hideous  section 
of  London  rife  with  odors,  noise  and  swarms 
of  unclean  humans.  In  transit  Sonia  fre- 
quently consulted  her  watch  the  while  she  en- 
deavored to  manifest  an  interest  in  certain 
almshouses  and  other  public  buildings  to  which 
her  attention  was  directed.  Diana  discovered 


10       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

that  she  was  weary  of  people.  On  Regent 
Street  and  Piccadilly,  even  in  the  great  cen- 
ters, such  as  St.  Paul's  and  the  Bank,  there  had 
been  an  element  of  charm  in  the  strong  human 
tides.  Here  she  saw  with  eyes  unsealed.  Was 
there  no  escape?  As  the  tram  hummed  along 
its  leisurely  way  London  seemed  to  extend  into 
the  infinite  beyond.  The  afternoon  sun  smote 
hotly  upon  us,  as  though  taunting  with  sug- 
gestion of  its  sweetness  where  the  earth  is  not 
stripped  to  make  room  for  the  herding  of 
humans. 

Somewhat  after  five  o'clock  four  women  de- 
scended from  the  tram,  two  of  them  with  a 
single  thought — tea.  The  other  two  exchanged 
glances  eloquent  of  dismay.  We  beheld  an 
abundance  of  signs  proclaiming  the  plural 
presence  of  this  beverage;  but  the  English 
ladies  pronounced  one  place  too  stuffy,  another 
unclean,  a  third  too  crowded.  At  fifteen  min- 
utes after  six  we  entered  the  Lion  Gates. 
'  The  palace  is  closed  at  six,"  said  a  guard; 
"  but  the  gardens  may  be  seen  until  sun- 
down." 

Sonia  looked  at  Diana  with  a  shrug  which 
said:  "  I  told  you  so!  " 

Diana's  lifted  brows  and  tightly  drawn 
mouth  replied:  "  We  must  bear  it  patiently." 

Once  within  the  gardens,  however,  we  felt 


An  Introduction  to  Hampton  Court    11 

compensated  for  much  of  our  disappointment. 
Pausing  to  worship  tall  heliotrope  freighted 
with  fragrance  or  the  gay-colored  blooms  along 
the  borders  of  the  Broad  Walk,  we  forgot  all 
but  the  intense  pleasure  of  the  moment.  A 
background  for  these  borders  consisted  of  a 
high  brick  wall  covered  with  roses.  Brick, 
then,  may  be  glorified !  Grassy  vistas  through 
tall  shrubbery  gave  a  series  of  surprises  as  we 
strolled  about.  Sometimes  an  avenue  of  limes 
led  to  a  marble  Venus  pedestaled  among  scar- 
let geraniums.  Anne  Boleyn's  Walk  would 
be  very  lovely  even  were  the  romance  of  that 
sometime  happy  queen  not  added  to  its  inter- 
est. By  some  it  is  now  called  Queen  Mary's 
Bower.  A  pause  for  rest  in  a  cool  glade  per- 
fected the  sensuous  impression  produced  by 
the  loveliness  of  these  gardens,  the  result  of 
centuries  of  artistic  study.  An  inquisitive 
thrush,  perhaps  fearful  for  the  safety  of  his 
nestlings,  inspected  us  carefully,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded with  his  early-evening  warblings.  "  I 
say,  you  know,  it  really  is  a  pity  you  girls  can't 
see  the  palace.  You  Americans  always  seem 
to  be  so  fond  of  such  things,"  said  Miss  He- 
bert. 

'  The  outside  of  it  is  very  nice,"  affirmed 
Diana.  ;*  We  shall  come  again.  Where  is  the 
river? " 


12       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  Down  that  way.  Phyllis  and  I  will  wait 
here  until  you  return.  Sight-seeing  always 
makes  me  so  tired." 

We  paused  to  glance  back  at  the  warmly 
red  facade  of  the  palace  on  the  one  hand,  green 
lanes  peopled  by  white  statues,  glimpses  of 
flower  groups  all  but  hidden  under  shrubbery ; 
on  the  other,  broad  lawns,  black-green  cedars 
whose  level  lines  intensified  the  yellow-green 
of  giant  elms  beyond.  Hundreds  of  peaceable 
middle-class  people  were  quietly  enjoying  the 
park.  Following  a  group  of  these  we  soon 
found  the  river.  Under  the  trees  on  the  oppo- 
site bank  a  houseboat  was  moored.  Swans 
paddled  about;  in  a  punt  a  woman  in  blue 
reclined  among  scarlet  cushions  while  a  man 
in  white  flannels  poled  the  boat  leisurely  up- 
stream. We  saw  no  golden  iris;  but  we  knew 
that  we  should  find  it;  and  if  there  had  been 
any  wavering  in  our  previous  resolve  it  van- 
ished at  this  moment. 

"  You  must  see  the  Maze !  "  said  our  friends 
when  we  rejoined  them.  They  knew  the 
"  key,"  and  we  followed  the  convolutions  of 
the  cedar  hedge — that  had  formerly  been  horn- 
beam— more  easily  than  the  folk  who  screamed 
laughingly  for  aid. 

Somewhat  after  nine  o'clock  that  evening 
we  sat  down  to  the  cold  mutton  and  salad 


s 

~ 


An  Introduction  to  Hampton  Court    13 

which  awaited  our  return,  feeling  far  wiser 
than  we  had  been  at  noon. 

'  When  we  go  to  see  Hampton  Court,"  said 
Diana,  "  you  and  I  shall  go  alone — by  which  I 
mean  together.  It  now  remains  for  us  to 
ascertain  how  we  can  find  a  way  out  of  Lon- 
don." 


CHAPTER   II 

The  Thames  from  Maidenhead  to  Statues 

WHERE  seek  for  the  golden  thread 
of  information  that  would  lead  us 
through  this  labyrinthine  London  into  the  un- 
known region  whose  mysterious  presence  we 
burned  to  discover,  perhaps  the  more  eagerly 
because  it  modestly  withheld  all  claims  to  con- 
sideration, content  with  the  great  city's  abso- 
lute dominion?  Perchance  the  breezy  call  of 
incense-breathing  morn  had  long  since  ceased 
to  be  addressed  to  the  town  dwellers  who  mani- 
festly desired  not  to  hear  it  until  the  calendar 
should  indicate  a  certain  date  made  sacred  by 
custom,  and  whose  ears  were  too  dulled  by  the 
roar  of  the  town  to  perceive  a  voice  that  could 
not  outshrill  the  others. 

There  were  tourist  agencies  in  plenty,  all  of 
which  displayed  highly  colored  posters  pro- 
claiming the  attractions  of  other  lands.  Of 

14 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          15 

such  we  inquired,  but  learned  chiefly  that  when 
tickets  were  not  to  be  purchased  from  them, 
their  "  gratuitous  information  "  was  unobtain- 
able. Diana  at  length  glowed  with  an  idea. 
Xot  pausing  to  communicate  it  to  her  friend 
she  plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  traffic  on 
the  Edgware  Road  at  Oxford  Street  and  delib- 
erately picked  her  way  until  she  stood  beside 
a  policeman  who,  with  arm  upraised  to  admon- 
ish an  unruly  cabman,  did  not  immediately 
notice  the  feminine  form  waiting  quietly  at 
his  side,  while  the  distracted  Sonia  hovered  on 
the  curb  certain  of  her  friend's  imminent  de- 
struction. 

"Officer!"  Diana  said  with  a  smile;  "will 
you  kindly  direct  me  to  the  nearest  railway 
station? " 

"  Underground,  miss,  or  chube?  " 
"  Something  that  goes  out  of  London." 
A  fleeting  smile  passed  across  his  imperturb- 
able face ;  but  true  to  the  traditions  of  his  kind 
he  was  equal  to  the  occasion.    "  Paddington  is 
the  nearest,  miss ;  that  is,  if  you  want  the  Great 
Western." 

"  Thank  you!    I  think  that  will  do."     She 
tripped  back  to  the  trembling  Sonia,  her  face 
radiant  with  surety  of  something  accomplished. 
Wondering  as  to  her  friend's  purpose,  skep- 
tical as  to  its  probable  efficacy,  Sonia  wisely 


16       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

refrained  from  interrogation  until  we  alighted 
from  a  cab  at  Paddington  Station.  The  great 
terminal  offered  no  immediate  assistance. 
There  were  porters,  trains,  hurrying  passen- 
gers, and  booking  offices  upstairs  and  down. 
Diana,  somewhat  bewildered,  was  testing  a 
newly  made  principle :  Never  ask  for  informa- 
tion until  you  have  used  your  eyes  and  ears  in 
vain.  She  did  not  confess  in  this  instance  that 
she  was  not  entirely  sure  what  to  ask  for, 
should  the  proper  source  be  disclosed.  An  in- 
clined platform  near  the  left-luggage  room 
looked  hopeful.  We  ascended  and  found  our- 
selves in  the  lobby  of  a  hotel.  Perhaps  here  we 
could  find  somebody  who  would  tell  us  how  to 
escape  from  London.  Some  porters  were 
bringing  in  luggage.  We  saw  a  traveler,  un- 
doubtedly British,  approach  a  small  window 
behind  which  sat  a  young  woman  who  seemed 
incapable  of  perceiving  him.  He  appeared  to 
know  what  to  do,  and  showed  no  symptom  of 
haste.  We  hovered  about  watching  for  oppor- 
tunity. At  length  the  young  woman,  stirred 
from  her  waking  dream,  opened  the  window 
which  secluded  her  from  the  outer  world  just 
sufficiently  to  enable  her  ear  to  catch  his  few 
prayerful  words  whispered  in  prayerful  atti- 
tude. Then  she  closed  the  window  with  care- 
ful deliberateness,  withdrew  to  a  far  corner  of 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          17 

her  apartment,  where  she  solemnly  consulted  a 
ruddy-whiskered,  frock-coated  male  and  even- 
tually reopened  the  window  a  fraction  of  an 
inch,  through  which  aperture  she  handed  with 
lofty  condescension  to  the  silently  grateful 
man  a  small  paper  disk  in  the  center  of  which 
were  some  numbers. 

Supposing  wre  had  entered  by  mistake  a 
charity  institution,  we  hastened  away  from 
that  cold-as-charity  window  to  behold  the 
Englishman  briskly  entering  the  lift.  The 
porter  waiting  with  his  portmanteaux  said  to 
him: 

'  What  number,  if  you  please,  sir?  "  The 
traveler  consulted  his  precious  disk,  and  we 
knew  the  meaning  of  the  pantomime  we  had 
beheld. 

Savory  aromas  had  reached  us  from  the  din- 
ing room  hard  by.  A  glimpse  of  the  cold  buffet 
decided  us  to  lunch  here  as  the  clock  showed 
the  hour  to  be  almost  two.  Sonia  proceeded 
into  the  room  and  was  seated  at  a  table  before 
she  discovered  that  she  was  alone.  Knowing 
that  her  friend  would  not  fail  to  follow,  she 
waited;  and  presently  Diana  rejoined  her,  both 
hands  full  of  small  printed  papers  of  various 
shapes  and  colors. 

"  I  saw  a  sign,"  she  said,  "  which  informed 
me  that  these  were  gratuitous  to  guests,  so  I 


18       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

availed  myself  of  the  privilege.  Have  you 
ordered? " 

We  glanced  over  the  handbills.  '  What  to 
See  in  London  "  and  "  Visitors'  Guide  to  Lon- 
don "  were  scornfully  rejected.  On  a  tiny 
green  pamphlet  which  lay  on  the  table,  as  yet 
unnoticed,  Sonia  glimpsed  a  few  pictured  pop- 
lars and  a  steamboat. 

"  What  is  that  little  one?  " 

"  My  dear,  that  is  IT! "  exclaimed  the  tri- 
umphant Diana.  '  Combination  trips  on 
G.  W.  R.  and  River  Thames.'  Here  are  doz- 
ens of  them." 

At  five  minutes  before  ten  on  the  following 
morning  we  were  borne  out  of  London  which 
—like  some  gigantic  monster  having  extended 
its  tentacles  farther  than  could  have  been  sup- 
posed— suddenly  let  go,  and,  having  passed 
out  of  the  city,  we  found  ourselves  gliding 
through  a  landscape  of  surpassing  loveliness 
which  gave  no  hint  of  the  nearness  of  the  oc- 
topodian  monster.  The  throng  and  tumult  of 
the  town  had  instantly  given  place  to  broad 
fields  where  poppies  flamed  among  green  oats, 
hedgerows  glowed  with  roses,  herds  of  fine  cat- 
tle grazed  in  emerald  pastures  and  long  lines 
or  groups  of  English  elms  made  us  think  of 
Constable  and  Gainsborough.  In  this  hour's 
ride  from  London  to  Maidenhead  there  had 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines  19 

been  nothing  that  was  unlovely,  nothing  offen- 
sively commonplace,  but  so  much  of  beauty 
that  as  the  train  slowed  down  at  our  station 
we  agreed  that  however  disappointing  the  river 
might  be,  this  brief  hour  had  been  well  worth 
the  difficulties  wre  had  encountered  in  adventur- 
ing out  from  London. 

Our  green  pamphlet  stated  no  time  of  de- 
parture from  Boulter's  Lock,  which  appeared 
to  be  the  landing  place  for  Maidenhead.  We 
asked  a  porter  and  ticket  collector  at  the  sta- 
tion, both  of  whom  were  blankly  ignorant. 
The  latter  was  asked  to  direct  us. 

"  Stright  down  to  the  bottom  of  this  road 
and  turn  to  the  left." 

The  day  wras  warm,  but  we  are  fond  of  walk- 
ing; and  this  sounded  enticingly  brief.  Fear- 
ing, however,  lest  boat  and  train  make  close 
connection — the  fear  strengthened  by  several 
cabs  hurrying  down  the  street — we  hastened 
on  our  way,  looking  vainly  for  bridge  or  river 
ahead.  A  boy,  when  questioned,  told  us  to 
"  turn  to  the  right  down  there."  A  long  per- 
spective of  descending  street,  some  of  whose 
buildings  appeared  to  be  old,  showed  no  prom- 
ise of  river.  We  caught  flashes  of  photographs 
and  postcards  in  shop  windows,  but  dared  not 
pause  to  purchase  or  even  to  admire.  Our  light 
impedimenta  became  burdensome.  At  length, 


20       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

after  a  twenty-minute  dash,  we  came  to  a  road 
bearing  leftward  at  whose  beginning  a  sign 
directed  to  Boulter's  Lock.  In  a  moment  the 
river  drifting  between  green  shores  rewarded 
and  refreshed  us.  The  road  led  on  indefinitely 
along  the  bank.  An  inn,  whose  pleasant  little 
garden  was  filled  with  tables  and  chairs,  caused 
Diana  to  turn  aside.  At  the  moment  she 
stepped  into  the  garden  the  landlord  emerged 
from  the  house.  He  said  the  boat  would  not 
leave  until  twelve  o'clock,  and  that  the  ladies 
would  be  most  welcome  if  they  desired  to  wait 
in  the  garden,  from  which  they  could  see  the 
steamer  when  she  entered  the  lock,  and  then 
have  ample  time  to  go  the  short  remaining  dis- 
tance. This  was  good  news  and  yet  ill;  for 
had  we  known  that  so  much  time  was  ours  we 
might  have  lingered  to  admire  the  pleasant 
little  town,  and  at  this  moment  be  less  in  need 
of  the  grateful  shade  of  the  inn's  garden. 

A  long  row  of  punts  lay  quietly  at  the  river's 
brink.  A  group  of  boatmen  chatted  in  the 
noon's  hot  sun.  The  opposite  shore  presented 
masses  of  green  which  induced  absolute  rest- 
fulness.  The  graceful  arches  of  Maidenhead's 
stone  bridge,  sentineled  by  lofty  poplars,  made 
a  pleasing  bit  of  drawing  amid  the  color.  In 
the  opposite  direction  were  high,  wooded  hills, 
the  loveliest  vision  which  had  yet  blessed  our 


§* 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          21 

town-weary  eyes.  So  impatient  were  we  to  be 
on  the  river,  now  that  we  had  found  it,  that  we 
hired  one  of  the  ready  boatmen  to  row  us  to  the 
lock.  He  did  more  than  this,  the  time  being 
sufficient,  and  pulled  the  boat  into  the  swift, 
foaming  outflow  from  the  weir  where  it  rushes 
under  an  old  mill,  which  he  said  was  now  part 
of  a  private  residence.  He  also  told  us  that 
the  green  hills  which  rose  so  high  above  us 
were  Taplow  Wood.  The  village  nestling  on 
the  opposite  shore  gave  to  this  wood  its  pleas- 
ant name.  In  the  lock  now  lay  our  steamer, 
small,  black,  rather  graceful.  There  was  an 
upper  deck  exposed  to  the  sun;  forward  and 
aft  smaller  decks  were  sheltered  with  awnings. 
We  found  ample  space  in  the  bow.  Immedi- 
ately the  gates  swung  outward  the  boat,  with- 
out a  throb  or  sound,  glided  down  the  river 
under  Maidenhead's  poplar-guarded  bridge 
and  on  into  the  unknown. 

English  gardens  are  as  well  known  by  name 
to  readers  as  are  English  ale  and  cheese.  One 
of  the  most  charming  experiences  in  life  is  to 
vivify  words.  To  one  who  has  lived  and  moved 
in  English  gardens  these  words  become  mir- 
rors of  lovely  memories.  Whosoever  can 
spend  a  summer  day  on  England's  river — for 
the  Thames  is  unquestionably  the  king  of  her 
rivers  even  as  the  rose  is  the  queen  of  her  gar- 


22 

dens — and  be  unimpressed  with  the  beauty  and 
the  profusion  of  the  flowers  which  glow  along 
the  banks  has  but  a  dull,  dead  soul. 

Drifting  silently  downstream  scarcely  faster 
than  the  leisurely  current,  this  day  was  to  us 
a  dream,  a  divine  idyl  as  compared  to  the 
many  we  had  wasted — so  we  now  thought — 
in  the  unwholesome  town. 

An  attendant,  who  had  been  shown  our  tick- 
ets, told  us  we  were  approaching  Bray,  from 
whose  manor  rents  had  been  assigned  by  Ed- 
ward III  to  his  beloved  Philippa.  He  also 
reminded  us  of  the  famous  vicar  whose  creed 
had  been  subject  to  change  without  notice  in 
the  days  when  England's  oft-changing  mon- 
archs  proclaimed  the  nation's  religion  to  be 
Catholic  or  Protestant.  Bray  Lock,  like  most 
of  the  locks  on  the  Thames,  is  dominated  by 
a  keeper's  tiny  house  smothered  in  gay  flow- 
ers. On  Monkey  Island  still  stands  the  one- 
time playhouse  of  a  notorious  so-called  "  no- 
bleman " ;  the  house,  now  used  as  an  inn,  is  evi- 
dently a  popular  bourne  of  punters  on  this 
part  of  the  river.  We  were  discovering  that 
the  keynote  of  the  river  is  rest.  Every  villa 
has  its  garden  or  flower-bordered  lawn,  which 
extends  to  the  brink  of  the  stream,  usually  com- 
plemented by  a  tiny  boathouse  suggestive  of 
long,  lazy  hours  in  light  pleasure  boats.  Every 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          23 

garden  or  lawn  is  more  or  less  shaded;  and  in 
the  shade  are  chairs  and  tables — such  delectable 
chairs  as  we  had  long  known  from  Du  Mau- 
rier's  drawings;  such  well-rooted  tables  as 
leave  no  doubt  of  their  permanent  usefulness. 
We  noticed  with  pleasure  that  the  summer 
silence  was  not  profaned  by  multitudes  of 
loud-ticking,  tootling  motor  boats.  England's 
conservatism  is  refreshing  to  pilgrims  from  the 
land  whose  unspoken  behest  is :  "  Never  be  sat- 
isfied with  what  you  have.  Seek  something 
different." 

It  is  to  be  expected  that  where  willows  trail 
their  tips  in  the  tranquil  tide  all  should  be- 
speak peace,  quietude,  repose;  but  the  homes, 
whether  humble  or  haughty,  were  equally  sug- 
gestive of  the  spirit  of  rest. 

Now,  indeed,  "  came  true  "  our  dream  of  iris 
stately  and  tall  amid  trembling  reeds.  We  said 
but  little ;  yet  each  knew  of  what  the  other  was 
thinking.  Little  birds  cheeping  in  the  marshes, 
larger  birds  circling  in  joyous  chase,  peopled 
the  picture  with  the  life  which  nature  uses  to 
enhance  her  inanimate  loveliness. 

The  character  of  the  valley  through  which 
the  river  sinuates  is  ever-changing,  yet  always 
beautiful.  At  first  we  were  fearful  as  each 
new  vista  became  imminent  lest  there  be  ugly 
factories,  quarries,  or,  in  our  ignorance  of  the 


24       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

climate — perhaps  ice  houses  to  destroy  our  joy 
and  bring  our  spirits  back  with  the  chill  of  dis- 
illusion from  their  present  elation  to  the  gloom 
of  disappointment.  Then,  as  each  fresh  pros- 
pect presented  only  fresh  glimpses  of  fairness, 
we  forgot  fear  and  permitted  our  spirits  to 
float  in  the  full  freedom  of  satisfaction. 

Now  great  clusters  of  poplars  challenged 
attention  as  they  dominated  a  foreland.  There 
is  a  dignity,  a  calm  consciousness  of  command 
about  these  trees,  coupled  with  their  splendid 
eagerness  to  overtop  all  others  and  a  sturdy 
loyalty  to  their  own  kind.  Who  ever  sees  a 
poplar  alone?  The  frequency  with  which 
groups  of  three  occur  recalls  that  pretty  story 
of  three  sisters  who,  having  been  accused  by 
Juno  of  murdering  their  brother,  protested 
their  innocence  until  Jupiter  in  pity  converted 
them  into  trees,  their  arms  eternally  upraised 
protesting  innocence. 

Again,  our  quiet  little  boat  glided  among 
level  fields  ruddy  with  poppies,  or  lush  mead- 
ows where  sheep,  cattle,  or  horses  peacefully 
browsed  through  sunny  hours.  More  often, 
however,  we  passed  pleasant  villas  whose  ivy- 
covered  garden  walls  secured  privacy,  whose 
velvet  lawns  sought  the  river  edge,  whose  tiny 
boathouses  were  often  literally  covered  with 
flowers,  and  whose  entire  atmosphere  was  ex- 


They  must  be  suffragettes  glorying  in  the  subjugation  of  man. 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          25 

pressive  of  the  home  love  which  is  the  strongest 
characteristic  of  the  English  people. 

"  I  wonder,"  whispered  Sonia,  "  why  every 
Englishman  is  not  a  lyric  poet?  " 

"  Probably  because  the  average  Englishman 
inherits  more  of  the  phlegm  of  his  Anglo-Saxon 
ancestors  than  the  romantic  inclinations  of  his 
Norman  progenitors.  His  consciousness  of 
lyric  inspiration  goes  no  deeper  than  the  de- 
sire to  punt  or  stand  all  day  thigh  high  in 
waters  casting  about  for  a  three-inch  fish. 
They-  Oh!" 

This  exclamation  was  caused  by  a  brown 
bird  who  rose  from  the  long  grass  in  a  meadow 
on  our  right,  fluttering  as  though  his  wings 
were  not  strong  enough  to  bear  his  plump  little 
body,  gradually  rising  the  while  he  shrilled 
an  ecstatic  staccato.  He  described  a  low  arc 
and  sank  again  into  the  grass  as  though  the 
effort  had  been  too  great. 

'That  must  be  a  lark!"  exclaimed  Sonia, 
her  eyes  big  with  excitement. 

"  I  thought  they  always  soared  into  the 
sky? "  averred  Diana,  remembering  Words- 
worth, and  looking  a  trifle  disappointed.  We 
watched  this  one  make  several  futile  attempts 
to  rise  into  the  empyrean  and  agreed  that  he 
must  be  very  young.  This  was  quite  as  satis- 
fying as  though  it  had  been  correct. 


26       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  attendant  came  forward  again  to  tell 
us  that  the  beautiful  residence  we  were  now 

passing  was  that  of  the  Dowager  Duchess  of 
§ 

"  On  the  Bucks  side,"  he  said,  "  a  little  far- 
ther on  you  will  see  Boveny  Church." 

"  Bucks? "  queried  Diana,  after  he  had 
turned  away;  "what  is  the  meaning  of 
'  Bucks '  ?  Oh,  why  did  we  not  buy  a  guide 
book  in  Maidenhead? " 

"I  think,"  replied  Sonia;  "that  is  what 
they  call  the  left  bank  of  the  river.  I  heard 
somebody  speak  of  the  other  as  '  Barks '." 
Diana  resisted  a  strong  impulse  to  pun.  Later 
we  learned  that  Bucks  is  an  abbreviation  of 
Buckinghamshire,  and  that  this  county  is  sepa- 
rated by  the  Thames  from  Berkshire,  more 
familiarly  known  as  '  Berks.' 

Boveny  Lock's  keeper  is  a  successful  grower 
of  roses.  All  flowers  in  England  evidently 
grow  because  they  are  eager  to  do  so.  The 
colors  are  intense,  the  foliage  luxuriant.  We 
recalled  our  gardening  efforts  at  home,  the 
fierce  heat  of  the  American  sun,  the  long  chok- 
ing droughts  of  germinating  time  and  mid- 
summer, our  delight  when  any  blooms  were 
saved  from  atmospheric  blight  or  destruction 
by  insects.  Here  the  trees  impress  one  as  pro- 
ducing as  many  leaves  as  can  be  contained  in  a 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          27 

given  space.  This  is  also  true  of  the  luxuriant, 
omnipresent  ivy,  every  leaf  of  which  must  have 
been  polished  by  diligent  fairies. 

A  novel  means  of  locomotion  was  evidently 
enjoyed  by  two  women  lying  at  ease  under 
sunshades  in  a  punt  which  was  towed  by  a  man 
walking  along  the  grassy  bank.  To  us  it 
brought  a  smile;  but  the  other  passengers  re- 
garded it  with  the  same  stolid  indifference 
with  which  they  beheld  everything  else. 

'  They  must  be  suffragettes,"  whispered 
Sonia,  "  glorying  in  the  subjugation  of  that 
monster — Man." 

Our  first  glimpse  of  Windsor's  lofty  towers 
vibrating  in  the  noonday  distance  seemed  like 
a  vision  of  Valhalla.  We  lost  it  in  a  bend  of 
the  river,  and  then,  following  the  "  Windle 
Shore,"  came  to  the  landing  at  the  foot  of  this 
still  somewhat  medieval  town. 

At  the  Royal  Oak,  near  the  river,  the  steam- 
er's passengers  were  served  swiftly  and  silently 
with  an  excellent  luncheon.  '  This  has  been 
a  dream  day,"  said  Sonia,  whose  eyes  showed 
that  the  dream  had  not  yet  ended. 

"  Probably  every  inch  that  we  have  traveled 
has  been  teeming  with  history  and  we  have 
not  known  it,"  Diana  remarked  a  little  wist- 
fully. *  Yet  I  do  not  think  anything  could 
have  made  my  enjoyment  of  this  wonderful 


28       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

morning  more  complete.    Let  us  try  to  buy  a 
guide  book  before  we  leave  Windsor." 

'  To  think,"  said  Sonia,  as  we  were  now 
emerging  on  the  street,  her  glance  traveling  up 
to  the  battlemented  tower  far  above  us;  "to 
think  of  actually  being  in  Windsor  and  not 
seeing  more  of  that  splendid  castle.  I  do  not 
believe  I  have  ever  seen  a  real  English  castle. 
Can't  we  take  a  train  back  to  London  from 
here?" 

"And  see  no  more  of  this  blessed  river? 
Are  you  weary  of  it  so  soon?  " 

Diana  thereupon  regretted  that  her  soul  was 
not  permitted  simultaneously  to  inhabit  two 
bodies,  so  that  one  might  remain  to  enjoy 
Windsor  while  the  other  journeyed  by  river  to 
Staines.  Diana  sagely  suggested  that,  being 
possessed  of  but  one  body,  Windsor  be  con- 
sidered merely  a  stopping  place  for  luncheon 
on  the  river  trip,  whose  name  might  by 
chance  have  been  Cricklewood  or  Wormwood 
Scrubbs. 

Returning  to  our  steamer,  which  was  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  among  several  similar  ones 
moored  side  by  side,  we  learned  that  while  we 
were  absent  the  queen  had  passed  in  a  launch. 
We  ruefully  accepted  this  disappointment; 
the  fact  that  things  were  happening  elsewhere 
than  in  London  being  borne  in  upon  us;  and 


Our  first  glimpse  of  Windsor  s  towers  seemed  like  a 
vision  of  Valhalla. 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          29 

we  both  felt  some  resentment  toward  the  town 
for  having  deprived  us  even  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  exurban  interest. 

A  group  of  swans  loitering  about  Windsor 
Lock  gave  to  the  scene  that  idyllic  quality 
which  made  it  seem  to  partake  more  of  dream 
substance  than  of  reality.  Sonia  watched  them 
while  Diana  studied  her  newly  acquired  guide 
book  during  the  interval  before  the  starting 
of  the  steamer.  From  this  store  of  informa- 
tion Diana  announced  that  Maidenhead  had 
existed  from  very  early  times,  her  wooden 
bridge  having  been  one  of  the  first  across  the 
river.  In  1352  Edward  III  incorporated  a 
guild  to  keep  the  bridge  in  repair.  Fifty  years 
later  the  Duke  of  Surrey  and  the  followers  of 
Richard  II  held  the  bridge  against  the  new 
king  Henry  IV  and  at  nightfall  made  good 
their  retreat. 

"  '  In  July,  1647,'  "  she  read  on,  "  '  a  meet- 
ing occurred  between  Charles  I  and  his  three 
children  at  the  Greyhound  Inn.'  (I  wonder 
if  it  is  still  there?)  *  On  a  moated  site  near 
Maidenhead  Bridge  once  stood  a  residence  of 
the  kings  of  Mercia;  and  still  extant  are  the 
remains  of  an  abbey  founded  by  Richard,  Earl 
of  Cornwall.'  " 

"  No  wonder,"  said  Sonia,  "  that  we  found 
the  present  bridge  so  interesting!  The  asso- 


30       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ciations  of  its  vicinity  have  doubtless  become 
atmospheric." 

"  '  At  Taplow,'  "  read  Diana,  "  '  Elizabeth 
was  imprisoned  during  the  reign  of  her '  ( af- 
fectionate) '  sister  Mary.  On  the  straight 
reach  of  the  river  below  Taplow  the  annual 
champion  punt  races  are  decided.' ' 

"  I  thought  that  was  at  Henley.  Oh,  no ! 
of  course — the  university  rowing  races  are 
there.  I  hope  they,  too,  have  not  already  oc- 
curred and  we  can  go !  " 

Eton's  buildings  are  effective  as  seen  from 
the  river  beyond  a  broad  meadow,  which,  our 
book  informed  us,  is  used  as  a  playing  field. 
We  wondered  if  the  boy  patiently  plying  a 
fishing  pole  on  the  landing  steps  were  a  truant 
from  scholastic  pursuits.  We  would  like  to 
have  seen  the  "  imposing  aquatic  display  "  said 
to  occur  here  annually  on  the  4th  of  June,  the 
birthday  of  King  George  III.  Why  had  no- 
body told  us  of  it? 

And  now  we  were  passing  Datchet  Mead 
where  Falstaff  had  been  dumped  from  a 
clothes  basket  into  the  Thames.  In  another 
moment  our  attention  was  called  to  The  Bells 
of  Ouseley  Inn  made  famous  by  Dickens  and 
still  the  haunt  of  ambitious  anglers. 

Magna  Charta  Island,  green  and  peaceful, 
conveys  no  hint  of  the  hot  hearts  that  throbbed 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          31 

there  when  the  cruel  monarch  was  compelled 
to  permit  justice  to  his  people.  The  little  cot- 
tage nestling  among  clustering  trees  is  said 
to  contain  a  large  stone  on  which  rested  that 
momentous  parchment  while  the  barons  affixed 
their  signatures.  Nearly  seven  hundred  years 
have  passed  and  still  human  hearts  thrill  at 
thought  of  that  indelible  deed.  Beyond  lies 
Runnymede,  which  looks  now  as  it  must  have 
been  in  the  year  that  made  it  famous.  On  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river  is  a  large  yew  which 
is  said  to  have  been  in  existence  at  that  time. 

At  Belle  Weir  Lock  the  River  Colne  unites 
with  the  Thames  amid  thickly  wooded  shores. 
Although  the  season  was  late  for  wild  iris  we 
passed  groups  of  it  from  time  to  time  dur- 
ing the  day ;  and  here  was  a  greater  profusion 
of  the  yellow  than  we  had  yet  seen. 

Above  Windsor  we  had  noticed  the  banks 
of  the  river  to  be  chiefly  a  succession  of  pretty 
homes ;  below  Windsor,  however,  the  scenery  is 
almost  entirely  rural.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
Englishmen  love  to  return  from  the  burning 
sun  of  India  and  Africa  to  rest  and  dream  be- 
side "  Sabrina's  stream."  Only  those  who  can 
look  with  unaccustomed  eyes  upon  such  scenes 
can  fully  appreciate  them. 

At  length  the  little  steamer  paused  in  mid- 
stream and  a  wherry  put  out  from  shore. 


32       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

'  This  is  Staines,  ladies  " ;  and  we  were  as- 
sisted gently,  quietly,  sans  haste  into  the  small 
boat,  whose  bearded  oarsman  pulled  a  few 
leisurely  strokes  ere  we  alighted  on  a  slide  be- 
side the  Pack  Horse  Inn. 

Here  we  were  the  only  applicants  for  tea, 
which  was  served  us  by  a  courteous  old  man 
strikingly  like  Bohun  in  "  You  Never  Can 
Tell."  We  sat  under  an  awning  on  the  river- 
side terrace,  feeling  that  we  must  be  part  of 
a  book,  a  play.  No  need  for  words.  Sonia 
threw  crumbs  to  clamorous  sparrows  and  Diana 
watched  a  curiously  primitive  method  of  pile 
driving  on  the  opposite  shore,  the  river  being 
much  wider  at  this  point  than  we  had  hereto- 
fore seen  it,  save  as  it  passed  through  London. 
The  pile  driving  reminded  her  at  once  of  Egypt 
and  May  Day.  The  hammer  was  operated  by 
eight  ropes,  each  of  which  was  manipulated 
by  a  man.  Their  concerted  efforts  lifted  and 
dropped  the  weight.  Diana  reflected  that 
labor  must  be  cheap,  and  time  of  little  value, 
yet  in  her  present  humor  she  preferred  this 
pleasantly  primitive  method,  which  seemed  to 
be  in  keeping  with  all  that  the  river  had  to-day 
revealed  to  her.  Bohun,  with  Chesterfieldian 
politeness,  directed  us  to  the  railway  station. 
An  hour  later  we  were  in  our  rooms  dressing 
for  "  Lohengrin."  En  route  to  Covent  Gar- 


• 


a 


From  Maidenhead  to  Staines          33 

den  the  Thames  seemed  as  remote  as  London 
had  seemed  a  few  hours  earlier.  Yet  the  spell 
of  London  had  been  broken,  and  our  enjoy- 
ment of  her  delights  was  all  the  keener  be- 
cause we  had  wrested  from  her  the  key  to  her 
postern  gate. 


CHAPTER    III 

Rainham  and  Rochester 

HOW  dismal  the  geography  of  our  school 
days!  A  mere  meaningless  memoriz- 
ing of  names  and  facts  whose  sole  interest  was 
centered  in  the  seemingly  irrelevant  pictures 
interspersed  amid  an  arid  waste  of  words- 
dreary  words. 

England  to  our  childhood  minds  suggested 
one  of  two  very  queer-shaped  islands,  whose 
ragged  coasts  our  pencils  faithfully  traced  in 
a  dozen  wavy  lines  which  were  very  black  at 
first  and  gradually  became  fainter  until  the 
last  one  was  well  nigh  lost  in  the  mystery  of 
an  unseen  sea.  Under  these  productions  we 
boldly  inscribed  in  large,  triumphant  capitals : 

THE   BRITISH   ISLES 

Later  we  learned  of  Roman  legions  landing  in 
Kent;  but  what  could  we  know  of  England 

34 


Rainham  and  Rochester  35 

from  geography  books  and  maps,  or  of  Eng- 
land's Kent  from  history  books? 

Now  the  mention  of  Kent  evokes  visions  of 
vast  strawberry  fields  converging  in  perspect- 
ive, as  though  mutely  indicating  the  distant 
blue  line  of  the  hills ;  of  climbing  hop  vines  that 
recall  the  vineyards  of  the  South  and  of  hooded 
hop  kilns  here  and  there  among  them.  Kent 
means  softly  undulating  farm  lands  affording 
occasional  glimpses  of  lovely  dales  and  densely 
wooded  districts.  Kent  also  means  Canter- 
bury bells  growing  in  myriads  along  the  rail- 
way banks  together  with  daisies  and  rosy 
valerian,  poppies  'mid  waving  "  corn,"  young 
orchards,  heavy  hay  crops  and  pheasant 
farms. 

Diana  discovered  that  her  ancestors  had 
come  to  the  New  World  from  the  little  Kent- 
ish village  of  Rainham,  and  that  Rainham 
is  within  forty  miles  of  London.  Having  pro- 
cured maps,  railway  guides,  and  others  our 
zest  for  adventuring  out  from  London  had 
been  the  more  whetted  by  the  discovery  of 
ways  and  means  to  that  end. 

England's  railway  trains,  which  at  first  look 
like  pretty  but  impracticable  toys,  often  de- 
velop an  astonishing  speed  even  when  they 
are  not  called  by  fancy  names,  such  as :  Ocean- 
Boat  Non-stop  or  Lightning  Express.  Dash- 


36       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ing  through  Kent  at  a  sixty-mile  rate  we  had 
better  opportunity  to  perceive  the  distant 
landscape  which  circled  round  us  than  to  dis- 
tinguish the  flowers  we  glimpsed  as  prolonged 
stains  of  color  along  the  banks  of  the  railway 
cuttings. 

A  river  came  into  view,  mirroring  silver 
toward  the  golden  summer  sun.  Red-sailed 
boats  trailed  leisurely,  the  reflection  of  their 
sails  making  them  seem  like  great  birds  dip- 
ping down  to  the  surface  of  the  stream,  which 
gradually  widened  as  we  looked  upon  it.  On 
its  farther  shore  was  suddenly  disclosed  the 
ivy-hung  keep  of  a  castle  in  ruins,  beyond 
which  pointed  cathedral  towers  rose.  We 
were  eager  to  know  what  the  place  was  and 
resolute  to  see  it  less  distantly.  In  another 
moment  the  train  stopped  at  Chatham,  where 
we  were  to  change.  A  porter  told  us  that  we 
would  have  to  wait  twenty-seven  minutes  for 
the  train  to  Rainham,  but  if  the  ladies  cared  to 
walk  to  the  bottom  of  the  road,  which  he  indi- 
cated, they  could  reach  their  destination  by 
electric  tram.  The  castle  and  cathedral  wre  had 
seen  were  at  Rochester,  just  across  the  bridge 
over  the  Medway. 

For  a  moment  Diana  wavered  in  her  stead- 
fastness to  the  genealogical  pilgrimage.  Sonia 
suggested : 


Rainham  and  Rochester  37 

"  As  Rainham  seems  so  near,  why  not  go 
there  first  and  learn  what  you  can?  Perhaps 
we  shall  have  time  to  see  Rochester  this  after- 
noon and  take  a  late  train  back  to  London." 

To  the  bottom  of  the  road  we  accordingly 
fared.  There  many  tram  lines  met.  On  a  post 
were  signs  announcing  the  time  of  departure 
of  the  next  car  in  each  direction.  The  excel- 
lence of  this  simple  system  was  borne  in 
upon  us. 

"  Rochester  and  Frindsbury  11.40,"  read 
Diana.  '  We  can  go  directly  from  here  to 
Rochester — this  afternoon." 

While  we  awaited  the  tram  for  Rainham, 
Sonia  busily  collected  fragments  of  history 
which  Chatham  and  Rochester  had  bestirred  in 
her  memory. 

'  Was  it  not  from  Chatham  that  James  II 
set  forth  for  France  when  England  became 
an  unsafe  environment  for  his  royal  head? " 
she  asked.  '  Yes,  now  I  remember.  It  was 
here  that  Elizabeth  established  the  dockyards 
before  the  coming  of  the  Armada;  and  I  re- 
member something  else  which  I  crammed  so 
tightly  for  an  examination  that  I  have  it  still. 
'  De  Ruyter,  having  taken  Sheerness,  sent  his 
admiral,  Van  Ghent,  "  with  seventeen  sail  of 
light  ships  and  eight  fire  ships,"  to  destroy 
Chatham.  He  succeeded  in  breaking  a  chain 


38       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

stretched  across  the  Medway,  and  despite  fire 
from  Upnor  Castle  burned  and  sunk  some 
ships.  Finding  the  country  alarmed  he  '  (con- 
siderately) '  retired,  carrying  off  a  warship 
named  the  Royal  Charles.' ' 

"  I  believe,"  said  Diana,  whose  memory  for 
history  was  less  reliable ;  "  that  for  many  years 
the  ships  which  went  out  to  India  sailed  from 
Chatham.  At  any  rate  when  Dick  Mordaunt 
and  the  Evans  boys  sailed  with  their  regiment 
for  Calcutta  they  went  from  Chatham.  I  re- 
member Kingsley's  description  of  the  depart- 
ure." 

While  we  were  speaking,  some  sailors, 
singly  and  in  groups  of  two  or  three,  came 
up  from  a  man  of  war  newly  anchored  in 
the  river,  and  each  had  slung  a  little  black 
bundle  over  his  shoulder.  Every  face  glowed 
with  the  joy  of  once  more  treading  the  soil  of 
the  homeland.  Some  looked  about  eagerly  for 
friends;  others  hastened  toward  distant  dear 
ones.  One  rosy-faced  young  Jack  met  with 
joy  his  pretty  little  wife,  who  was  trundling 
their  baby.  It  was  like  a  scene  from  an  opera 
where  from  among  the  bedizened  supers  an 
occasional  one  is  claimed  by  a  woman  from  the 
ranks  of  the  chorus.  Here,  however,  the  blue 
uniform  was  less  spectacular,  the  greeting  so 
sincerely  simple  that  we  looked  with  misty  eyes 


Rainham  and  Rochester  89 

and  then  stumbled  to  the  top  of  the  tram  for 
Rainham.  As  it  climbed  a  steep  hill  leading 
out  of  the  town  we  had  opportunity  to  see  how 
large  has  grown  this  important  stronghold. 
On  a  hill  to  the  north  stands  a  fort,  one  of  the 
many  erected  for  Chatham's  defense  of  Eng- 
land. To  the  south  far  below  stretch  many 
irregular  rows  of  pent-roofed  houses  whose 
slate  tops  looked  oddly  like  the  skeleton  of 
some  gigantic  animal. 

Two  officers  of  the  Royal  Engineers,  splen- 
did specimens  of  British  masculinity,  who  had 
been  sitting  in  front  of  us  alighted  at  a  broad 
field  on  the  summit  of  the  ridge  where  mili- 
tary manoeuvres  appeared  to  be  in  progress. 
We  had  seen  with  delight  a  windmill  whose 
slow  sails  recalled  the  beloved  Netherlands; 
and  now,  far  awav  on  our  left,  wound  the  blue 

•J 

Medway  through  verdant  pastures  on  her  way 
to  the  sea.  We  persuaded  ourselves  that  the 
hazy,  low-lying  land  along  the  far  horizon 
must  be  the  ancient  Isle  of  Thanet,  whose  de- 
fenseless shores  had  received  frequent  hordes 
of  fierce  foes  to  whom  the  subjugation  of  the 
feeble  inhabitants  of  this  whole  land  seemed 
but  a  merry  game  in  that  orgy  which  life 
must  have  been  during  the  long  days  before 
history  began. 

The  tramway  was  laid  beside  a  broad  high- 


40       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

way  which  extends  in  unbending  directness  as 
far  as  the  sight  can  penetrate.  At  Rainham 
the  tram  line  ends.  Before  us,  high  above  the 
street,  rose  a  square-towered  stone  church 
which  looked  as  though  it  had  been  erected  in 
a  time  when  buildings  were  intended  long  to 
outlast  the  human  hands  that  fashioned  them. 
This  proved  to  be  the  parish  church.  We 
tried  the  door,  found  it  locked,  and  strolled 
about  among  the  graves  seeking  a  certain 
name  inscribed  on  the  stones,  many  of  which 
had  long  since  fallen,  while  from  the  majority 
the  inscriptions  were  almost  entirely  effaced. 
Diana  searched  vainly ;  but  Sonia,  to  her  aston- 
ishment, found  the  names  of  some  of  her  New 
England  ancestors.  The  grass  was  long ;  many 
graves  unmarked.  We  paused  to  admire  tall 
eglantines  glowing  with  dainty  flowers,  and 
some  fine  old  yews.  Diana  asked  a  boy  where 
the  vicarage  was  located. 

"Down  there,"  he  responded,  waving  his 
arm  in  a  general  direction,  which  evidently  in- 
cluded the  long,  hot  street  whose  uninterest- 
ing house-fronts  tempted  us  to  remain  longer 
in  the  cool  repose  of  the  churchyard.  We 
went  a  short  distance,  and  perceiving  a  door 
in  a  high  wall  slightly  ajar  caught  a  refresh- 
ing glimpse  of  broad  shady  lawns  beyond 
which  a  rose  arch  evidently  led  into  a  garden. 


Rainham  and  Rochester  41 

A  woman  lay  in  a  chaise  longue  under  wide- 
spreading  branches.  Such  a  contrast  was  this 
to  the  hot,  dusty  street  that  we  involuntarily 
paused  and  momentarily  forgot  that  we  were 
trespassing.  A  card  tacked  on  the  door  caught 
Diana's  eye:  "Rainham  Vicarage.  Ring  the 
bell." 

A  green-aproned  carpenter  answered  the 
summons  and  asked  us  to  step  within  the  wall 
while  he  called  the  vicar.  This  gentleman 
was  most  cordial  and  became  enthusiastic 
when  he  learned  our  errand.  First,  we  must 
meet  his  wife  while  he  fetched  the  church 
keys.  She  was  recovering  from  an  illness,  and 
he  hovered  over  her  for  a  moment  in  affection- 
ate solicitude  after  he  had  presented  us.  Her 
quiet  voice  and  cordial  hand-clasp  bade  us  wel- 
come. We  were  Americans,  of  course,  she 
supposed;  but  was  it  possible  we  had  come 
all  the  way  from  London  in  these  white  linen 
costumes?  When  the  vicar  came  to  show  us 
the  church  and  the  registers  Mrs.  Vicar  en- 
treated us  to  return  for  luncheon  with  them. 
We  thanked  and  protested;  but  she  said  we 
were  the  first  real  Americans  she  had  ever  met, 
and  there  were  so  many  questions  she  would 
like  to  ask  us  about  New  York,  especially  its 
overhead  railway  and  its  flatirons,  that  our  re- 
turn would  be  a  great  kindness  to  her. 


42       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  vicar  paused  in  the  churchyard  to  show 
us  the  grave  of  Sam  Weller,  whose  "  real " 
name  was  Job  Baldwin.  Then  we  passed 
under  the  pretty  modern  porch  of  the  parish 
church,  which  dates  from  the  thirteenth 
century — and  whose  heavy  door  with  hand- 
wrought  iron  bands  and  nails  and  beautiful 
old  lock  bespoke  its  antiquity — into  the 
church,  where  the  heavy  hand  of  the  restorer 
has  obliterated  much  that  lovers  of  architecture 
would  fain  have  retained.  The  nave  is  double, 
the  side  walls  strengthened  by  heavy  wooden 
cross  beams  upheld  by  clustered  rough-hewn 
timbers. 

A  statue  of  an  ancient  lord  of  Thanet  has 
a  background  of  red  drapery  painted  on  the 
plaster,  which  was  oddly  suggestive  of  the  Ital- 
ian propensity  for  decorating  walls  with  pic- 
tured furnishings.  Could  some  disciple  of 
Giorgione  have  journeyed  to  England  and 
thus  decorated  this  little  church? 

The  registers  were,  however,  of  paramount 
interest  to  us.  These  had  been  carefully  kept 
since  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
simple  records  of  birth,  baptism,  marriage  and 
death.  Their  yellow  vellum  pages  gave  cause 
for  reverent  admiration  of  booklovers  apart 
from  the  intensely  human  interest  they  stirred. 

"  Now,  I  shall  leave  you  ladies  in  full  pos- 


Rainham  and  Rochester  48 

session.  At  one  I  shall  return  and  bear  you 
back  to  the  vicarage  for  luncheon."  His  com- 
ing was  punctual.  Our  task  was  finished ;  and 
after  he  had  locked  the  precious  volumes  in  a 
safe  we  went  out  into  the  churchyard  and  so 
on  to  the  pleasant  vicarage,  where  we  tasted 
the  wine  of  truest  hospitality — a  hearty  wel- 
come to  utter  strangers.  To  our  astonishment 
and  delight  our  host  informed  us  that  the  tram 
on  which  we  had  come  from  Chatham  had 
borne  us  along  the  edge  of  the  Watling  Street, 
wThich,  commencing  at  Dover,  passed  through 
Canterbury,  Rochester,  and  London  on  its 
way  to  far-distant  Chester.  The  Via  Appia 
had  long  since  thrilled  us  with  thoughts  of  the 
days  in  which  it  was  constructed ;  but  what  was 
a  Roman  road  in  Rome  as  compared  to  this 
highway  which  had  been  prepared  for  the 
legions  of  Csesar  in  a  foreign  land?  We  had 
spoken  often  of  the  Watling  Street  and  hoped 
to  include  parts  of  it  in  a  later  pilgrimage 
through  England  toward  Liverpool  and  the 
western  world  of  home.  To  have  found  our- 
selves traveling  upon  a  portion  of  it  was  a 
surprise  fraught  with  that  intense  pleasure 
which  the  unexpected  alone  can  afford.  The 
return  ride  from  Rainham  to  Chatham  past 
perfumed  hay  fields  full  of  flaunting  poppies, 
the  great  highway  on  our  left,  and  overhead 


44       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

the  fairest  of  summer  skies  was  one  of  enchant- 
ment. 

*  As    where    some   buried    Caesar   bled,' ' 
quoted  Diana,  gazing  at  the  ruddy  stain  of  the 
poppies.     "  I  suppose  this  part  of  Kent  has 
many  times  been  drenched  with  the  blood  of 
human  sacrifice." 

Before  entering  Rochester  the  tram  follows 
high  banks  facing  the  Medway.  Here  and 
there  residences,  surrounded  with  fine  old  trees, 
conceal  the  river,  but  the  loveliest  glimpses  we 
had  of  this  firthlike  stream  were  caught  from 
the  top  of  the  tram,  which  soon  bore  us  into 
the  High  Street  of  Rochester,  so  soon,  in  fact, 
that  we  did  not  believe  the  town  with  so  many 
quaint  timbered  houses  could  be  Rochester 
until  a  peal  of  soft-toned  bells  drew  our  atten- 
tion to  the  towers  of  the  cathedral  directly 
above  us  on  the  left.  Through  the  remains  of 
an  old  gateway  we  passed  into  the  close,  and 
pausing  but  a  moment  to  deplore  the  zeal  of 
the  restorer  and  the  necessity  for  restoration 
as  displayed  in  the  cathedral's  west  front,  whose 
one  redeeming  feature  is  the  beautiful  Norman 
doorway,  we  entered  the  cool  dusk  of  the  north 
transept.  In  the  choir  boyish  voices  had  be- 
gun to  chant  the  evensong.  Sonia  entered  and 
knelt.  Diana  preferred  to  wait  quietly  in  the 
nave,  where  she  caught  the  sound  of  the  dis- 


Rainhain  and  Rochester  45 

tant  voices  mingling  with  the  rich  vibration  of 
the  organ  the  while  her  beauty-loving  spirit 
was  incited  by  the  splendid  Norman  bays  both 
to  rest  and  worship.  Her  thoughts  dwelt  upon 
that  far-reaching  mission  of  St.  Augustine 
which  caused  a  church  to  be  erected  in  Roches- 
ter as  early  as  604,  when  he  had  been  in  Eng- 
land but  seven  years.  This  early  wooden  struc- 
ture had  been  superseded  by  one  of  stone, 
which  was  later  incorporated  with  Bishop  Gun- 
dulph's  building  of  1077.  Much  of  that  edi- 
fice may  still  be  seen.  When  the  remodeled 
cathedral  was  dedicated  in  1130,  the  king, 
Henry  I,  wras  present.  The  many  enlargements 
and  alterations  which  occurred  between  1130 
and  1479  may  easily  be  distinguished.  Henry 
VIII  evidently  had  a  wide  acquaintance  with 
the  religious  establishments  in  his  kingdom 
even  though  he  may  not  have  been  overfre- 
quent  in  his  devotions.  Rochester  was  not  for- 
gotten in  his  iconoclastic  zeal,  although  it  was 
spared  the  utter  demolition  which  befell  so 
many  of  its  fellows.  He  "  dissolved  "  its  gov- 
ernment and  refounded  it  as  a  Cathedral 
Church  dedicated  to  Christ  and  the  Virgin. 
The  Puritans,  too,  whose  religious  zeal  mani- 
fested a  childish  lust  for  destruction  of  beauti- 
ful things  which  are  not  understood  or  appre- 
ciated, so  ill-treated  this  cathedral  that  it  was 


46       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

described  as  "  much  delapidated  and  sadly 
needing  repair."  Then  occurred  a  further 
series  of  renovations  and  restorations  in  which 
the  name  of  Sir  Gilbert  Scott  holds  a  conspicu- 
ous position. 

"  The  choir  is  rather  stuffy,"  admitted  Sonia, 
as  Diana  joined  her  there  after  service.  While 
waiting  for  a  verger  to  take  us  down  to  the 
crypt  we  idled  among  tombs  and  brasses.  The 
memorial  to  Charles  Dickens  reminded  us  of 
his  close  association  with  the  town  of  Roches- 
ter as  related  in  "  Edwin  Drood,"  "  Pickwick," 
and  "  Great  Expectations."  Incidentally  we 
recalled  that  in  the  "  Uncommercial  Traveler  " 
Chatham's  dockyards  were  described.  The 
window  inserted  by  the  Royal  Engineers  in 
memory  of  General  Gordon  and  the  men  who 
never  came  back  from  the  Soudan  and  Egypt 
stirred  profound  emotions. 

Delicately  beautiful  as  a  piece  of  rare  lace 
is  the  Chapter  House  doorway.  Our  verger 
returned  while  we  stood  admiring  its  exquisite 
workmanship,  and  told  us  that  Canon  Ben- 
ham,  who  had  written  a  book  on  Rochester 
Cathedral,  considered  this  doorway  second  to 
none  in  the  world. 

The  verger  asked  if  we  had  seen  the  tomb 
of  St.  William  of  Perth,  and  we  admitted  hav- 
ing noticed  it,  although  we  were  not  sure 


Rainham  and  Rochester  47 

which  of  the  shopworn  monuments  it  was ;  but 
time  was  pressing  and  we  were  more  interested 
in  hurrying  toward  the  delights  of  the  castle 
which  still  awaited  than  in  brasses  or  effigies; 
but  the  verger  politely  pressed  upon  us  certain 
of  his  knowledge,  and  we  were  glad  to  have 
submitted  when  we  learned  that  William,  a 
baker  of  Perth,  in  the  beginning  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  made  it  his  custom  to  give  every 
tenth  loaf  to  the  poor.  This  must  have  had 
its  difficulties,  for  'prentices  might  at  times 
have  forgotten  to  count — supposing  they  knew 
how — or  been  careless.  But  these  old  stories 
are  good  in  the  telling.  The  most  interesting 
thing  about  William,  we  thought,  being  dis- 
passionately concerned,  was  that  his  servant, 
who  murdered  William  en  route  to  the  Holy 
Land  via  Canterbury,  chose  to  do  so  on  the 
Watling  Street.  For  the  tithe,  the  objective 
point  of  travel  and  the  assassination,  William 
was  canonized  in  1256.  This  was  told  us  as 
we  stood  in  the  pretty  deanery  gardens  giving 
thanks  to  nature  for  planting  dainty  flowers 
in  the  crannied  wall  of  the  old  priory. 

However  much  we  might  have  doubted  the 
accuracy  of  some  of  the  verger's  carefully  re- 
cited information,  the  statement  that  Roches- 
ter's crypt  is  one  of  the  finest  in  England  we 
accepted  with  entire  faith,  for  surely  there 


48       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

could  not  be  many  so  spacious.  Its  vistas  of 
low-vaulted  dimly  lit  chambers  seemed  elo- 
quent of  the  mystery  that  dwells  underground. 

This  had  been  a  day  of  unforeseen  discov- 
eries, among  which  the  most  delightful  was 
reserved  for  the  last.  As  we  stood  in  the  gar- 
dens inclosed  by  fragmentary  walls  of  the  cas- 
tle save  where  the  Medway  glides  silently  by, 
wre  forgot  our  fatigue  in  looking  up  on  the 
great  square  keep  which  has  sturdily  with- 
stood the  attacks  of  hostile  foes  as  well  as  the 
modern  vandal's  pickaxe.  We  sat  on  a  bench 
where  we  could  look  comfortably  at  its  splen- 
did walls  and  the  red  sails  loitering  in  the  still 
afternoon.  Children  were  feeding  a  flock  of 
pigeons,  their  merry  voices  a  contrast  to  the 
scenes  our  fancy  pictured  in  the  shadow  of 
these  ancient  walls.  Tethered  to  the  wall  of 
the  keep,  absurdly  suggestive  of  a  mimic 
watchdog,  was  a  tiny  white  donkey.  While 
Diana  sought  entrance  to  this  keep,  whose 
main  doorway  was  closed  by  an  iron  grille 
much  like  the  portcullis  which  had  once  pro- 
tected it,  Sonia  interrogated  some  rosy-faced 
children  and  learned  that  Nancy  was  a  prize  - 
medal  donkey  whom  they  were  permitted  to 
feed  with  carrots  and  occasionally  to  ride. 

Sixpence  gave  us  the  freedom  of  the  keep's 
interior.  A  recent  owner  of  the  castle,  having 


Children   icere  feeding  a  flock  of  pigeons. 


Rainham  and  Rochester  49 

inherited  none  of  the  conservatism  of  his  race, 
desired  to  sell  his  property ;  but  failing  to  find 
a  purchaser  he  caused  it  to  be  dismantled  and 
disposed  of  piecemeal.  The  first  of  the  depre- 
dations of  this  Kentish  radical,  Walker  Wei- 
don,  was  the  removal  of  all  the  woodwork— 
the  splendid  oak  doors,  floors,  and  joists — 
which  was  sold  to  one  Gimmett  and  incorpo- 
rated in  his  new  brewhouse.  Followed  all  the 
worked  Caen  stone,  such  as  the  turnings  of 
arches  and  the  "  nosing  "  of  steps  to  a  firm  of 
London  masons  who  tore  away  all  they  could 
reach.  Happily  there  was  much  beyond  their 
long  arms,  and  the  arched  doors  on  which  we 
looked  upward  for  six  stories  are  still  very 
beautiful  tokens  of  early  Norman  workman- 
ship. In  the  year  1878  Weldon  offered  the 
rest  of  the  keep  to  a  local  pavior ;  but  the  crafty 
prospective  purchaser  bethought  him  to  test 
the  strength  of  these  walls  of  Kentish  ragstone 
whose  thickness  was  twelve  feet.  To  his  de- 
si  stance  we  owe  it  that  this  splendid  strong- 
hold remains. 

Why  are  the  cannon  of  modern  warfare  con- 
sidered more  destructive  than  the  old  battering 
rams  ?  When  it  is  remembered  that  in  the  time 
of  King  John  a  portion  of  these  walls  was  un- 
dermined by  his  battering  rams  so  that  it  fell 
outward  and  carried  with  it  a  part  of  the  outer 


50       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

wall  into  the  moat  there  would  seem  to  be  no 
necessity  for  more  effectual  instruments.  One 
of  the  dungeons  remains  to  suggest  the 
unloveliness  of  the  "  good  "  old  times.  We 
thought  of  Robert  Bruce's  queen  lowered  by 
ropes  into  this  pit,  where  for  seven  months 
she  dwelt  in  darkness  and  horror  until  the  cas- 
tle's constable,  Henry  de  Cobham,  was  ordered 
to  "  assign  for  her  use  a  suitable  room  within 
the  said  castle;  and  that  the  sum  of  twenty 
shillings  be  allowed  for  her  weekly  expenses; 
and  that  she  be  permitted  at  convenient  times 
to  walk  under  safe  custody  within  the  precincts 
of  the  aforesaid  castle  and  the  Priory  of  St. 
Andrew." 

The  Romans  were  again  recalled  to  us  by 
three  blackened  piles  of  a  Roman  bridge  which 
with  some  others  were  discovered  in  the  river 
bed  while  constructing  the  present  bridge. 

As  we  ascended  the  worn  stones  of  the  great 
spiral  stairway  we  thought  of  the  clank  of 
armored  knights  and  the  occasional  silken  tread 
of  fair  women  which  had  long  ago  preceded 
the  tourists,  who,  conscious  of  intrusion  in  the 
privacy  of  the  past,  yet  reverently  relived  the 
scenes  in  which  their  ancestors  may  have  par- 
ticipated. The  outer  windows,  as  we  ascended, 
gave  us  pleasant  glimpses  of  the  cathedral  or, 
on  the  other  side,  of  the  gardens  and  the  river. 


Rakikam  and  Rochester  51 

Pausing  to  rest  and  to  contemplate  at  leisure 
the  details  of  the  great  pile  now  peopled  only 
by  pigeons,  Sonia  glanced  through  some  of  the 
local  guides  she  had  procured. 

"  Henry  the  Second,"  said  Diana,  "  I  was 
taught  in  school  to  believe  a  '  powerful '  king ; 
but  when  I  think  on  the  '  local  pavior  '  and  the 
thickness  of  these  walls  I  am  more  than  ever 
convinced  of  Henry's  power  by  recalling  that 
he  is  said  to  have  destroyed  eleven  hundred 
Xorman  castles.  How  tired  he  must  have 
been!" 

Sonia  looked  up  from  her  guide  books.  "  I 
am  trying  to  recall  which  of  the  Ingoldsby 
Legends  it  is  that  begins: 

*  In  Rochester  Town 
At  the  sign  of  the  Crown.' ' 

"  I  don't  know  that  one,"  said  Diana,  "  but 
it  was  on  this  very  tower  St.  Bridget's  Hand 
of  Glory  burned  every  St.  Mark's  Eve — per- 
haps it  still  does — and  the  saint  appeared  to 
the  parish  clerk  at  Rochester  while  he  was  un- 
trussing  his  points  preparatory  to  nocturnal 
retirement,  held  up  that  same  incandescent 
hand  and  compelled  him  to  exhume  the  un- 
shriven  sailor  who  had  been  buried  too  close  to 
her  saintship." 


52       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  '  The  Rood  of  Gillingham  was  deserted ; 
the  chapel  of  Rainham  forsaken,'  "  quoted  So- 
nia,  whose  mind  in  childhood  had  received  many 
indelible  impressions. 

We  read  that  this  castle  had  been  construct- 
ed, perhaps  reconstructed — the  old  British  set- 
tlement which  the  Romans  called  Durobrivae 
having  occupied  the  site  of  the  present  town 
— by  the  redoubtable  William  of  Normandy, 
and  that  during  the  centuries  immediately  fol- 
lowing the  occasion  at  Hastings  both  Roches- 
ter city  and  castle  were  frequently  besieged. 
As  early  as  the  days  of  Kent's  independent 
Saxon  monarchy  Rochester  was  regarded  as 
an  important  stronghold  on  the  Medway.  It 
was  destroyed  by  Ethelred,  King  of  Mercia, 
in  676,  and  by  the  Danes  nearly  two  hundred 
years  later. 

When  Odo,  the  fighting  Bishop  of  Bayeux— 
who  strove  beside  his  brother,  Duke  William, 
at  Hastings,  and  to  whom  William  gave 
the  reconstructed  .castle  of  Rochester — raised 
an  insurrection  against  William  Rufus  and  in 
favor  of  Robert  of  Normandy,  the  Conquer- 
or's son  besieged  and  "  took  "  the  castle  and 
forced  the  prelate  to  return  to  his  Norman 
town  of  tapestries. 

Three  times  during  the  twelfth  century  both 
town  and  castle  were  nearly  destroyed  by  fire. 


^^  .-....^'  i  v  : 

,  •  ,       -.,--iV.v,.=j_-, 

V:f=*  \*L---^  -*r>. 


^x    -   •  ^  V-r    '••  Ni  \'*f 

^:^i   ,— .;       ' 


, 

=, 
e 


Rainham  and  Rochester  53 

In  1215  King  John  gathered  together  at  Dover 
an  army  of  mercenaries  and  marched  north- 
ward on  the  Watling  Street  to  attack  Roches- 
ter Castle  which,  staunchly  defended  by  Wil- 
liam de  Albini,  withstood  him  for  three  months. 
In  the  next  year  Louis,  Dauphin  of  France, 
landed  at  Thanet  in  aid  of  the  barons  and  again 
the  castle  was  "  taken  " ;  but  after  his  retreat 
and  the  death  of  John  it  submitted  once  more 
to  the  crown. 

It  is  written  that  in  1540  "  the  impatient 
though  unwieldy  lover  Henry  VIII,  accompa- 
nied by  eight  gentlemen  of  his  privy  chamber," 
rode  to  Rochester  to  meet  the  latest  bride 
(Anne  of  Cleves) .  Alas!  poor  Hal. 

Many  kings  caused  the  castle  to  be  repaired 
after  its  various  vicissitudes.  Of  these  the  last 
was  Edward  IV.  In  1610  King  James  I 
granted  the  whole  estate  of  the  castle  to  Sir 
Anthony  Weldon  of  Swanscombe,  a  prede- 
cessor of  Walker  Weldon. 

We  had  seen  all  that  was  to  be  seen  of  the 
castle,  and  were  preparing  to  descend  the  stone 
stairs,  our  eyes  a  little  blinded  by  the  light  in 
the  upper  corridors  from  which  we  had  just 
emerged,  when  a  long  shrill  scream  from  far 
below  came  echoing  through  the  great  spaces. 
So  utterly  had  we  been  immersed  in  the  past 
that  for  a  moment  we  paused  and  gazed  at  each 


54       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

other  with  wild  eyes  and  white  faces.  Then 
other  screams  followed  in  the  shrill  treble  of 
childish  voices  and  we  laughed,  remembering 
the  children  whom  we  had  seen  playing  in  the 
gardens. 

When  we  looked  back  at  the  tower  on  our 
way  down  to  the  fine  old  water  gate  of  the 
castle,  two  Scots  in  scarlet  coats  and  gay  tartan 
kilts  about  to  enter  the  keep  made  the  ivied 
walls  more  picturesque  than  before. 

Tea  in  a  pleasant  little  garden  back  of  a 
shop  on  the  High  Street  refreshed  us.  At  the 
foot  of  the  esplanade  a  boatman  had  offered  to 
row  us  to  Upnor  Castle.  Upon  inquiry  as 
to  its  present  state  of  preservation,  he  told  us 
that  it  was  now  used  as  a  powder  magazine. 
This  was  fortunate,  for  the  afternoon  was 
nearly  gone,  and  we  had  still  many  things  to 
see  in  Rochester.  There  is  a  Crown  Inn,  built 
upon  the  site  of  that  in  which  the  three  shabby- 
genteel  men  sat  them  down  to  "  fat  stubble- 
goose,  with  potatoes  done  brown."  On  the 
High  Street  is  also  the  Bull  Inn,  whose  beds 
Mr.  Alfred  Jingle  praised.  In  the  Vines 
Recreation  Ground  is  a  fragment  of  the  old 
city  wall.  Other  parts  remain,  but  we  wrere 
obliged  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them. 

In  the  Recreation  Ground  that  once  was  the 
vineyard  of  the  Priory  of  St.  Andrew  we  had 


Rainham  and  Rochester  55 

noticed  the  Restoration  House,  where  Charles 
II  passed  a  night  on  his  return  to  England 
in  1660.  Of  Eastgate  House,  known  to  read- 
ers of  Edwin  Drood,  we  saw  only  the  exterior, 
delightfully  Tudor.  Now  on  the  High  Street 
was  passed  the  Watt's  Charity  House  with  its 
"  quaint  old  door — choice  little,  long  low  lattice 
windows  and  a  roof  of  three  gables." 

An  assiduous  cabman,  sagaciously  perceiv- 
ing our  nationality,  asked  if  he  might  drive  the 
ladies  to  Gad's  Hill  House ;  but  upon  learning 
that  it  was  only  shown  to  visitors  on  Wednes- 
days, the  present  day  being  Thursday  and  the 
hour  but  little  short  of  six,  we  declined  the  drive 
and  bought  photographs  of  Dickens's  home  to 
comfort  us  as  best  they  might.  The  cabman, 
nowise  disgruntled  by  the  loss  of  a  fare,  asked 
if  we  would  not  like  to  see  the  Elizabethan 
stairway  in  the  Gordon  Hotel,  before  wrhich 
we  were  standing.  The  time-blackened  and 
use-polished  wood  of  this  staircase  would  have 
been  worth  a  long  pilgrimage,  as  would  also 
the  fine  "  dog-gate  "  which  the  hotel  contains, 
and  is  said  to  be  the  only  one  in  Kent.  A  room 
was  shown  us  through  which  James  II  escaped 
wrhen  he  was  recaptured  at  Chatham.  The 
building  is  said  to  have  been  erected  about 
1600. 

The  cabman's  courtesy  was  rewarded  to  the 


56       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

best  of  our  ability.  We  were  driven  by  him 
across  the  bridge  to  our  station.  The  distance 
was  short,  and  a  tram  might  have  conveyed  us 
far  more  economically;  but  there  are  times 
when  a  cab  is  indispensable,  and  our  apprecia- 
tion of  this  brief  drive  was  so  lavishly  expressed 
that  the  driver's  smiles  and  bows  were  not  dis- 
continued until  the  train  for  London  bore  us 
from  his  ken  and  Kent. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Royal  Ascot 

"TJOYAL  weather  for  Royal  Ascot," 
AV  exclaimed  Sonia,  who  is  always  the 
first  to  pull  up  the  clattering  Venetian  blinds 
and  admit  the  light  of  morning.  At  such 
times  she  announces  to  Diana,  who  does  not 
wish  to  be  talked  to,  the  hour  and  the  weather. 
But  nowhere  is  the  weather  so  vital  a  topic  as 
in  England;  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  the 
magazine  advertisements  so  often  concern 
rain-proof  garments. 

'  You  must  wear  your  smartest  frocks,  my 
dears!"  had  been  Lady  Hanford-Burham's 
parting  injunction  on  the  previous  evening. 
"  At  Ascot  we  women  have  our  greatest  oppor- 
tunity of  the  whole  season  for  the  display  of 
millinery." 

While  Diana  gave  a  final  twist  to  the  roses 
in  her  hat,  and  Sonia,  who  had  pulled  a  button 

57 


58       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

off  her  glove,  dove  frantically  into  her  sewing 
basket  for  another  of  similar  size,  our  maid 
announced  "  her  ladyship,"  and  we  descended 
to  the  drawing-room. 

'  Where  is  Sir  Arthur?  "  Diana  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  my  dears ;  but  it  is  such  a  disap- 
pointment. The  poor  man  has  a  horrible  in- 
fluenza and  cannot  possibly  go  with  us.  He 
was  so  anxious  to  back  Pillo  and  Louvier.  But 
he  insists  that  we  go  nevertheless.  I  call  it 
horrid,  you  know,  not  to  have  a  man  with  us. 
What  a  jolly  little  frock  you  are  wearing,  So- 
So!" 

"  My  dear  Di,  what  in  the  world  are  you 
going  to  do  with  that  mackintosh? "  This  to 
Diana,  who  had  hung  a  silken  rain  cape  over 
her  arm. 

"  I  thought  it  might  be  wiser  to  take — some- 
thing. It  is  not  so  pleasant  as  when  we  woke 
this  morning." 

'  We  shall  not  need  anything  of  the  sort," 
Lady  Hanford  assured  her.  '  You  must  not 
spoil  the  effect  of  your  pretty  French  finery." 
With  manifest  reluctance  Diana  laid  the 
cape  on  a  chair  and  took  a  fluffy  parasol 
instead. 

:<  This  looks  interesting,"  said  Sonia,  as  we 
waited  in  the  great  station  for  the  "  Ascot 
special  "  to  be  announced.  Throngs  of  people 


Royal  Ascot  59 

congregated,  all  dressed  in  what  constituted 
their  idea  of  fitness  for  the  occasion.  The 
social  status  of  the  women  could  be  instantly 
determined  by  their  choice  of  color,  material 
and  style.  Among  the  men  there  was  great 
dissimilarity.  The  gilded  youth  of  proud  line- 
age and  no  chin  stood  with  field  glass  slung 
correctly  over  his  shoulder  chatting  with  the 
scion  of  a  ducal  house  whose  thick  purple  lips 
and  reddened  eyes  gave  little  credit  to  the 
famous  ancestor  who  fought  beside  his  king 
at  Crecy.  Actors  in  plenty  were  assembled 
with  wholly  correct  attire  of  the  sort  Billy, 
Sonia's  brother,  would  have  dubbed  "  noisy." 
Of  coachmen  and  grooms  who  had  been  ac- 
corded a  holiday  we  detected  several.  White- 
haired,  ruddy-cheeked,  frock-coated  M.  P.'s 
stood  in  friendly  groups  in  which  women  flut- 
tered pleasantly;  and  corpulent,  ready-made 
necktie  race  goers  whose  interest  was  in  reve- 
nue only  stood  waiting  for  the  gates  to  open. 
Everybody  bought  race  cards  and  morning 
papers  in  which  they  studied  the  past  perform- 
ances of  the  horses  and  picked  the  day's  win- 
ners. The  train  sped  without  stop  to  Ascot. 
We  passed  Staines  and  caught  a  glimpse  as 
the  train  crossed  the  Thames  of  the  Pack 
Horse  Hotel  where  we  had  alighted  from  the 
steamer. 


60       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  It  is  raining,"  announced  Diana,  with  an 
I-told-you-so  expression. 

"  I,"  said  Sonia,  "  am  in  so  beatific  a  frame 
of  mind  that  I  am  prepared  to  see  my  finest 
raiment  draggled  in  the  mud  and  splashed 
with  rain  without  being  in  the  least  per- 
turbed." 

The  train  stopped  and  we  plunged  into  the 
crowds  of  remarkably  well-dressed  men  and 
women.  Everybody  was  intent  on  having  a 
good  time.  The  platform  was  protected  by  a 
glass  roof  and  a  long,  covered  passage  led 
to  the  race  course.  None  of  us  had  ever  been 
to  the  races  before,  and  all  were  conscious  of 
a  cat-in-a-strange-garret  feeling.  On  the  grass 
beside  the  covered  way  a  vast  number  of  beg- 
gars squatted  in  the  rain,  who  promised  all 
sorts  of  luck  to  the  generous.  The  English 
people  must  be  universally  charitable,  for  in 
every  hotel,  restaurant,  railway  station,  and  in 
a  multitude  of  other  places  we  were  confronted 
with  contribution  boxes  for  some  charitable 
purpose.  Diana  threw  silver  and  coppers  to 
all  these  mendicants  beside  the  covered  way  to 
the  race  course,  laughing  when  they  assured 
her  of  being  a  "  sure  winner." 

'  Why  do  they  solicit  for  the  lifeboat  serv- 
ice? "  asked  Sonia. 

"  My  dear !  "  replied  her  ladyship,   "  you 


1 


Royal  Ascot  61 

have  no  idea  how  those  poor  fellows  risk  their 
lives  to  save  the  crews  and  passengers  on 
wrecked  ships  along  the  coast.  Everybody 
contributes  to  their  support." 

"Do  you  mean  that  they  are  supported  by 
charity  and  not  by  the  government?  "  we  asked 
in  amazement. 

'  Yes,  their  services  are  voluntary ;  but  I  am 
told  they  are  well  paid  because  everybody  has 
so  much  sympathy  for  the  poor  dear  fellows." 

We  had  been  invited  to  sit  in  Mrs.  Miller's 
box ;  but  the  custodian  thereof  told  us  that  Mrs. 
Miller  was  not  expecting  to  be  present  to-day 
and  the  box  was  already  filled  with  some 
friends  who  had  come  in  their  motor.  Lady 
Hanf  ord-Burham  was  very  much  embarrassed ; 
but  we  supposed  Mrs.  Miller  was  more  gen- 
erous than  systematic,  and  had  forgotten  to 
how  many  she  had  offered  the  freedom  of  her 
box  or  else  supposed  its  capacity  to  be  unlim- 
ited. To  our  surprise  and  delight  we  obtained 
without  difficulty  excellent  places  on  a  covered 
stand  somewhat  nearer  to  the  Royal  Enclosure 
and  the  judges'  stand.  The  rain  had  ceased 
and  Lady  Hanford  took  occasion  to  remind 
us  that  we  had  not  as  yet  been  exposed  to  a 
"  single  drop." 

;<  I  do  wish  I  had  thought  to  ask  Art  how 
we  could  place  our  bets,"  she  said. 


62       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  My  favorite  is  Silent  Lady,"  said  Sonia. 
"  It  is  the  prettiest  name  of  all." 

"  How  much  will  you  back  her  with?  "  asked 
Diana. 

"  Nothing  at  all!  "  replied  that  young  lady 
decisively.  "  I  am  not  here  to  gamble." 

'  We  must  find  a  way,"  declared  Diana  to 
Lady  Hanford,  a  reckless  gleam  in  her  eyes; 
"  I  want  to  bet  a  sov.  on  Louvier.  I  wonder 
how  it  is  done?  The  American  jockey  is  going 
to  ride  him." 

'  There  is  a  harmless-looking  man  in  the 
next  box,"  volunteered  Sonia,  interested  de- 
spite her  scruples.  '  Why  don't  you  ask  him 
how  to  do  it?  " 

Her  ladyship,  devoutly  wishing  that  Sir  Ar- 
thur's "  flu  "  had  waited  until  a  more  conven- 
ient time,  blushingly  asked  the  harmless-look- 
ing man,  whose  gray  hair  inspired  some  confi- 
dence, for  the  necessary  information. 

"  I  think,"  he  replied,  "  you  will  have  to  wire 
to  London." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  murmured  Diana.  "  Let 
us  go  down  and  see  what  we  can  do  here. 
There  are  dozens  of  bookies  standing  there.  I 
wonder  why  they  all  are  wearing  gray  hats. 
What  a  shouting!  It  is  as  bad  as  the  Stock 
Exchange  on  a  panicky  morning."  As  usual 
a  bobby  helped  us  out  of  our  difficulty,  and  we 


Royal  Ascot  63 

had  scarcely  settled  ourselves  in  our  seats  after 
having  boldly  invested  some  gold  pieces  when 
the  royalties'  approach  was  announced. 

"Isn't  it  just  too  splendid!"  Sonia  whis- 
pered, as  the  three  royal  carriages,  each  drawn 
by  four  sleek  bays,  with  due  accompaniment  of 
postilions  and  outriders,  advanced  along  the 
emerald  turf  while  bands  played,  people 
shouted,  women  who  had  been  presented  made 
their  Court  courtesy,  and  the  sun  broke  forth 
to  make  the  scene  still  more  brilliant.  They 
drove  in  beside  the  Royal  Enclosure,  the  king 
and  queen  speaking  with  acquaintances  there- 
in; and  soon  the  queen's  mauve  dress  graced 
the  front  of  the  circular  royal  box,  where  wre 
watched  her  all  day  as  assiduously  as  though 
we  were  staunch  royalists  and  not  democratic 
citizens  of  the  Land  of  the  Free. 

"  So-So,  my  dear,  I  fear  your  Silent  Lady 
has  been  scratched,"  said  her  ladyship,  looking 
at  the  bulletin. 

"  Xow  you  see  how  wise  I  was  to  keep  my 
golden  ducats,"  laughed  Sonia. 

"  Here  they  come!  " 

The  green  of  England's  rolling  landscape 
was  more  than  intensified  by  the  gray  of  the 
sky,  for  the  sun  had  withdrawn  again.  The 
horses  flashed  past  the  royal  box  with  never 
a  false  start,  and  the  gay  apparel  of  the  jock- 


eys  diminished  to  mere  points  of  color  in  the 
distance,  vanished  for  a  moment  as  the  track 
dipped,  then  reappeared  and  skimmed  along 
like  birds  farther  away;  until  curving  grad- 
ually nearer  and  larger  they  approached  while 
thousands  of  people  watched  in  a  hush  so  in- 
tense that  it  seemed  something  must  break. 
And  it  did.  A  low  murmur  stirred  in  the  great 
throng  of  spectators,  which  vibrated  more 
loudly  with  the  horses'  approach  and  burst 
into  shouts  of  excitement  as  the  winner  flashed 
beyond  his  closely  pressing  second  and  the  bell 
clanged.  Lady  Hanford  discovered  with  sur- 
prise that  she  had  beaten  to  shreds  her  beauti- 
ful fan  of  pearl  and  plumes.  Our  favorites 
were  not  in  the  first  few  races.  We  wanted 
Minoru,  the  king's  horse,  to  win;  but  he  was 
defeated.  It  was  a  day  when  few  of  the  favor- 
ites won  and  there  were  some  surprises  among 
the  bettors. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  royalties  are  having  chicken 
and  ham,  too,"  said  Diana,  as  these  viands  were 
set  before  us  at  luncheon.  '  When  I  suggested 
to  Mrs.  Dodson  this  morning  that  we  have 
roast  chicken  for  dinner,  she  said  fowls  are  very 
dear  this  week  because  so  many  had  been  en- 
gaged for  Ascot.  So  we  had  to  compromise 
on  veal,  as  she  seemed  certain  that  even  extrav- 
agant Americans  could  not  indulge  in  fowl 


Royal  Ascot  65 

under  such  circumstances,  and  I  dared  not  dis- 
turb her  belief." 

When  the  horses  were  assembling  for  the 
race  in  which  our  favorite  was  to  run,  Diana 
was  so  excited  she  wanted  to  shriek  like  some 
of  the  women  who  hung  over  the  fence  rail 
opposite,  where  the  coaches  were  parked.  The 
race  was  a  long  one;  and  while  the  little  spots 
of  color  skimmed  across  the  distance  she  heard 
a  man  who  had  come  up  from  the  betting  ring 
with  a  "  sure  tip  "  say : 

"  Number  eleven  wins." 

Number  eleven  won  by  a  neck  and  the  odds 
were  six  to  one.  So  Diana  and  her  ladyship 
were  flushed  with  triumph  when  they  came  back 
chinking  the  gold  in  their  purses. 

There  had  been  another  shower  and  many 
of  the  women  wrho  had  been  visiting  the  pad- 
dock and  preferred  dragging  their  long  skirts 
about  on  the  wet  grass  to  sitting  unobserved 
in  a  sheltered  stand  had  ample  opportunity 
for  displaying  entire  sang-froid,  although  laces 
and  chiffons  were  wet  and  muddy ;  and  delicate 
shoes  must  have  been  unpleasantly  moist. 

'  Their  self-control  is  far  more  admirable 
than  their  indifference  to  the  destruction  of 
costly  and  beautiful  dresses,"  said  Sonia.  "  I 
am  sure  I  could  not  have  kept  my  promise  of 
the  morning,  but  should  have  scuttled  for  safety 


66       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

when  the  rain  came,  even  if  I  had  not  seen  our 
splendid  Louvier  win  the  Gold  Cup — or 
whichever  cup  it  was." 

After  the  last  race  but  one  we  departed  and 
succeeded  in  avoiding  the  returning  throngs. 
We  enjoyed  a  clean  and  undisturbed  compart- 
ment ;  moreover,  we  reached  London  in  time  to 
meet  Miranda  at  Mrs.  Hallyn's  "  at  home," 
where  we  heard  some  pleasant  music  and  par- 
took of  delectable  ices  and  strawberries. 

'  We  have  laughed  at  some  of  your  English 
customs,"  remarked  Diana ;  "  but  for  beauty 
of  setting,  for  perfection  of  management  in 
every  detail,  for  royal  splendor,  and  for  so  vast 
an  aggregation  of  men  of  the  sort  for  which 
England  is  world  renowned  and  also  for  women 
whose  imperturbability  is  as  assured  as  the 
valor  of  their  lords — commend  me  to  Royal 
Ascot. 


CHAPTER   V 

Kew  Gardens  and  Richmond 

"  There  sits  enthroned  in  vegetable  pride 
Imperial  Kew  by  Thames's  glittering  side." 

KEW  GARDENS  are  beautiful,  no  doubt, 
at  all  times;  but  surely  June's  glory  of 
rose  and  rhododendron  is  unrivaled.  Kew  is 
every  kind  of  a  garden  —  formal,  informal, 
wild.  There  is  a  wonderful  rock  garden  that 
winds  up  and  down  through  the  miniature 
Brocken,  which  gave  Sonia  more  suggestions 
than  she  will  ever  utilize.  There  are  rose  arches 
and  arbors  over  which  riot  more  varieties  of 
"  climbers  "  than  are  dreamed  of  in  our  cata- 
logues and  price  lists. 

Dorothy  Perkins  is  new  to  America,  and  so 
are  the  tiny  single  roses  that  our  florists  are 
producing  as  Easter  novelties;  but  the  clever 
gardeners  at  Kew  have  long  known  them  all. 
Diana  has  a  passion  for  yellow  roses  and  for 

67 


68       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

the  old-fashioned  mossy  pink  buds  of  her  great- 
grandmother's  garden.  Here  she  found  them 
all  and  here  love  for  them  grew  greater  than 
before. 

The  glass  houses  contain  little  that  we  had 
not  seen  elsewhere:  palms,  tree  ferns,  cacti, 
and  the  wondrous  Victoria  Regia,  not  yet  in 
bloom. 

But  the  orchids!  Orchids  are  nature's 
music  made  visible — from  tenderest  tones  to 
wildest  Walkiirian  abandon.  The  orchids 
were  supreme.  Some  stimulated  vaguely  like 
the  great  piano  concerto  of  Tschaikowsky  or 
a  czardas  of  Dvorak;  some  seemed  to  dance 
like  the  fairies  of  Mendelssohn.  Others  were 
the  steady,  golden,  sunlit  tones  of  Mozart ;  and 
again  others  seemed  the  epitome  of  Beethoven's 
cool,  shadow-flecked  moonlight.  A  certain 
mauve  variety  can  only  be  associated  with  love 
music,  whether  of  Tristan,  Romeo,  or  Rhada- 
mes  matters  not.  The  nightingale  is  the  night- 
ingale whether  he  sings  to  the  rose  of  Persia 
or  of  Portugal.  To  some  people  the  orchid 
but  an  orchid  is ;  to  others  it  is  an  exotic,  which 
being  expensive  is  desirable.  A  few  there  are 
to  whom  its  form  and  color  suggest  a  universe 
of  ineffable  spirituality,  of  poems  unrevealed, 
of  hopes  passionately  impalpable. 

The  pond  lilies  of  England  are  deprived  of 


Kew  Gardens  and  Richmond          69 

their  birthright;  they  are  geruchlos.  Perhaps 
that  is  why  our  American  wild  violets  have  no 
perfume — nature's  unwritten  law  of  compen- 
sation. 

We  had  come  to  Kew  on  Friday,  and  there- 
fore were  unable  to  see  the  interior  of  the  pal- 
ace. But  who,  as  Diana  inquired,  would  be 
interested  in  a  palace,  especially  a  Georgian, 
when  they  could  roam  in  such  a  garden?  The 
custodian  who  informed  us  that  the  palace  was 
closed  on  Fridays  added  that  there  was  not 
much  of  interest  in  it. 

"  Most  of  the  'alls  and  hapartments  is 
hempty,"  he  said.  When  we  learned  that  Rob- 
ert Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester,  had  lived  here 
we  were  glad  we  had  been  spared  further  re- 
minders of  Elizabeth's  minion.  It  was  more 
wholesome  to  think  of  the  Dutch  merchant 
who  bought  the  palace  at  a  later  date  and  with 
a  recklessness  worthy  of  royalty  pulled  it  down 
and  erected  the  present  building,  which  is  still 
called  "  Dutch  House."  The  crown  regained 
it  by  fair  means  or  the  right  of  might  early  in 
the  eighteenth  century.  When  poor  George 
III  became  demented  he  was  housed  here  for 
a  time.  And  here  died  Queen  Charlotte  amid 
the  gardens  she  loved  so  well.  During  Vic- 
toria's latter  days  the  palace  and  gardens  were 
given  to  the  people. 


70       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  Chinese  pagoda  is  dear  to  the  British 
heart;  but  we  were  not  moved  to  enthusiasm 
regarding  it.  A  Chinese  pagoda  needs  a  Chi- 
nese environment,  which  Martin  Tupper  pro- 
vided by  asserting  that  the  old  name  for  Kew, 
Kai-ho,  was  sufficiently  Chinese. 

Words  are  too  colorless  to  depict  the  splen- 
dor of  Rhododendron  Dell.  Even  to  us  who 
had  been  in  the  North  Carolina  mountains  in 
early  June  these  masses  of  warm  color-tones 
against  polished  green  foliage  were  fraught 
with  deep  delight.  We  loitered  in  the  wild 
garden  and  congratulated  the  song  birds  on 
their  choice  of  summer  residence. 

Along  Cedar  Vista  we  came  to  the  pretty 
artificial  lake,  where  among  the  tiny  islets 
many  sorts  of  water  fowl  disported.  At  the 
far  end  of  the  grassy  Sion  Vista  the  Palm 
House  glistens.  The  names  of  some  parts  and 
paths  in  the  shady  Arboretum  tell  as  much  as 
description  could:  Bamboo  Garden,  Azalea 
Garden,  Tulip  Tree  Avenue,  Riverside  Ave- 
nue. This  last  extends  more  than  half  a  mile, 
from  Isleworth  Ferry  to  Brentford  Ferry. 
At  the  south  of  Kew  Gardens  is  the  Old  Deer 
Park,  eight  miles  in  circumference,  which  con- 
nects with  Richmond.  Before  leaving,  how- 
ever, we  must  see  the  American  Garden.  As 
American  gardens  go,  this  can  scarcely  be 


Ketv  Gardens  and  Richmond          71 

called  typical;  but  it  was  pleasant  to  see  our 
common  field  and  roadside  flowers  so  treas- 
ured. 

A  tram  bore  us  quickly  to  Richmond,  where 
Diana  insisted  first  of  all  upon  finding  "  maids 
of  honor."  The  search  was  not  a  long  one; 
and  in  the  bakeshop  where  we  secured  them 
we  obtained  a  "  decent  "  luncheon.  The  sweet- 
ened cheese  cakes  beloved  of  Elizabeth's  hand- 
maidens are  far  less  delectable  than  some 
others  in  the  same  shop;  but  loyal  Sonia  in- 
sisted that  they  were  "  perfectly  delicious," 
and  ate  more  than  she  wanted  because  impul- 
sive Diana  had,  after  a  single  mouthful,  thrust 
them  aside  and  ordered  jam  tarts,  murmuring 
something  about  the  probable  deterioration  of 
maids  of  honor  several  hundred  years  old. 

The  busy  Richmond  of  to-day  is  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  Schene  where  kings  and  queens 
held  court  amid  the  forests  that  ever  furnished 
sport  royal  in  plenty.  From  Syences,  meaning 
in  Saxon,  beautiful,  in  German,  Scho'n,  to 
Schene  and  Sheen  and  on  to  Richmond  of  the 
French-taught  Tudors  is  not  a  far  cry. 

Edward  I,  who  was  not  the  first  Edward  to 
reign  in  England,  came  sometimes  to  the 
manor  house  on  the  river  which  Henry  I  had 
built  nearly  two  hundred  years  before.  From 
here  went  Richard  II  to  his  coronation;  and 


72 

here  he  brought  his  gentle  Anne  of  Bohemia 
who  was  destined  to  die  here.  After  her  death 
the  king  abandoned  this  home  of  mournful 
memories  which  soon  fell  into  ruins ;  and  Geof - 
frey  Chaucer,  who  had  been  Clerk  of  the 
Works  to  the  palace  went  to  Woodstock,  a 
pensioner  of  the  crown. 

Royalties  have  always  displayed  a  childish 
pleasure  in  razing  the  palaces  of  their  prede- 
cessors. When  Edward  Ill's  beloved  Phi- 
lippa  desired  a  new  house,  he  dutifully  rebuilt 
the  palace  of  Schene  for  her.  Several  downs 
and  ups  followed  before  fire  came  unbidden 
during  the  reign  of  Henry  VII  and  completely 
destroyed  it.  This  gave  Henry  his  chance; 
and  up  went  a  new  palace,  which  he  named 
Richmond,  from  his  own  earldom.  Did  the 
first  Tudor  Henry  think  of  the  last  Henry  of 
Lancaster  who  wrent  forth  from  the  halls  of 
Schene  Palace  to  that  fatal  battle  of  St.  Al- 
ban's?  And  was  there  no  prescience  that  ten 
years  after  the  building  of  this  beautiful  Gothic 
residence  his  own  body  would  be  lying  in  state 
in  its  Great  Hall? 

Square-faced  King  Hal,  after  having 
wrested  from  his  dulled  tool,  Wolsey,  his  pal- 
ace at  Hampton  Court,  graciously  (?)  per- 
mitted him  to  occupy  the  one  at  Richmond  and 
royally  condescended  to  visit  him  here. 


Wonderiny  whether  ire  icere  on   Cholmondeley  Walk. 


Kew  Gardens  and  Richmond          73 

'  That  is  what  my  brother  Billy  would  call 
'  rubbing  it  in,'  "  said  Sonia.  '  The  venge- 
ance of  royalty  toward  deposed  favorites  seems 
to  take  a  subhuman  delight  in  this  sort  of 
thing." 

After  Wolsey's  death  of  heartbreak  at  his 
lonely  Esher  Place  Henry  often  visited  Rich- 
mond— a  good  place  for  deer  stalking;  but  he 
wearied  of  it,  so  gave  it  to  Anne  of  Cleves 
when  he  wearied  of  her. 

Mary,  the  bloody — the  brutal — imprisoned 
her  dangerous  sister,  Elizabeth,  at  Richmond 
Palace.  The  dangerous  sister  had  her  day  also ; 
and  here,  it  is  said,  she  put  her  signature  with 
steady  hand  and  cold  to  the  death  warrant  of 
her  dangerous  cousin,  Mary  of  Scotland.  But 
death  came  also  to  Elizabeth,  whom  life  had 
cheated  of  all  she  most  desired.  A  state  barge 
bore  in  splendor  her  shriveled  corpse  down  the 
Thames  to  London. 

It  was  probably  here  that  Van  Dyck  came 
to  paint  those  wonderful  portraits  of  the  chil- 
dren of  Charles  I. 

During  the  Commonwealth,  when  wealth 
was  not  common,  the  palace  was  sold  for  ten 
thousand  pounds,  which  sum  was  devoted  to 
the  maintenance  of  the  Parliamentary  Army. 
The  widowed  queen,  Henrietta  Maria,  was  its 
first  chatelaine  after  resumption  by  the  crown. 


74       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Of  the  "  fourteen  turrets,"  which  much 
adorned  and  "  set  forth  the  fabric  of  the  whole 
structure,"  and  were  a  "  very  graceful  orna- 
ment to  the  whole  house,  being  perspicuous  to 
the  country  round  about,"  none  remain.  There 
is  an  archway  of  red  brick,  over  which  is  a 
room  said  to  have  been  that  in  which  Elizabeth 
died. 

"  I  respectfully  doubt  that  assertion,"  said 
Diana,  "  she  could  not  possibly  have  squeezed 
her  state  bed  into  that  little  room,  much  less 
her  maids  of  honor  and  their  cheese  cakes. 
Nevertheless  this  bit  of  the  old  palace  is  fairly 
perspicuous."  The  arch  under  this  room  is 
evidently  a  part  of  Henry  VII's  structure,  for 
his  arms  are  to  be  seen  on  an  escutcheon 
above  it. 

Fronting  on  the  river  is  now  a  modern 
dwelling  where  a  part  of  the  palace  once  stood, 
connecting  with  the  cloisters  of  the  ancient 
Priory  of  Sheen  that  was  founded  by  Henry 
I.  Every  trace  of  it  has  disappeared,  which 
is  true  also  of  another  priory  established  here 
by  Henry  V  in  the  year  preceding  Agin- 
court. 

"  Syon  Vista  "  at  Kew  took  a  new  meaning 
when  we  learned  that  at  Syon  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  river  was  a  nunnery,  which,  legend 
says,  was  connected  by  a  subfluvial  passage 


Kew  Gardens  and  Richmond          75 

with  the  Carthusian  Priory  at  Schene.  This 
priory  evidently  became  corrupted  by  the  in- 
ertia of  the  Middle  Ages,  for  we  read  that  it 
was  several  times  suppressed  and  restored  be- 
fore its  final  demolition  during  Elizabeth's 
reign. 

'  Why,"  asked  contemplative  Sonia,  "  is  so 
little  remaining  of  the  palace  when  it  was  here 
in  Georgian  times;  and  the  Maids  of  Honor 
Row  on  Richmond  Green  was  not  erected  until 
the  time  of  the  first  George?  " 

"  Here's  why,"  replied  Diana,  turning  the 
leaves  of  a  guide  book:  "Queen  Anne,  who 
had  not  built  anything  but  hideous  gabled 
houses  which  she  should  have  been  ashamed 
to  acknowledge,  was  jealous  of  Henry  VII's 
Fourteen  Turrets  and  therefore  pulled  part 
of  them  down.  George  III,  some  of  whose 
teaspoons  we  bought  in  London  yesterday, 
went  her  one  better  by  commanding  all  the 
buildings  to  be  removed  and  the  ground 
plowed  up!  " 

;'  It  seems  to  me,"  grunted  Sonia,  "  that 
there  is  too  much  history  and  not  enough  pal- 
ace. What  else  came  we  forth  to  see?  Oh, 
there  is  the  first  gazebo  I  ever  saw !  "  We  were 
walking  along  the  shady  riverside  and  had  been 
wondering  whether  we  were  on  Cholmondely 
Walk.  Set  upon  a  wall  was  indeed  a  real 


76       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

gazebo — a  pleasant  surprise  which  compen- 
sated somewhat  for  the  sparsity  of  palace. 

Above  Richmond  Bridge  is  a  wooded  island 
beside  which  were  moored  one  or  two  of  the 
small  black  steamers  that  are  typical  of  the 
Thames. 

'  Why  do  they  carry  so  many  extra  tires?  " 
Diana  dreamily  inquired,  while  she  watched  a 
patient  fisherman  who  did  not  get  a  bite. 

"  I  must  ask  somebody  the  name  of  that  dear 
little  island,"  Sonia  declared.  "  I  know  it  must 
have  an  idyllic  name."  She  stopped  a  barefoot 
boy  and  his  whistling. 

"  The  ^island?  Ow,  that's  Heel  Pie."  So- 
nia looked  wounded;  Diana  laughed  immod- 
erately. '  Twickenham  Ait  is  another  name," 
she  vouchsafed  from  her  guide-book's  lore; 
but  she  dared  not  launch  the  inevitable  pun 
when  she  knew  there  would  be  no  laugh  from 
the  disgusted  Sonia.  Glover  Island  it  was 
after  all;  and  we  had  yet  to  see  Eel  Pie 
Island. 

From  any  and  every  point  of  view  Richmond 
Bridge  is  a  thing  of  beauty ;  and  leaning  on  its 
balustrade  we  could  not  determine  whether  the 
view  up  the  river  or  down  was  the  more  fair. 
At  the  top  of  the  bridge  stairs  we  hired  a  cab 
to  take  us  to  the  terrace,  not  knowing  how 
near  we  had  been  to  the  Terrace  Gardens 


Kew  Gardens  and  Richmond          77 

which  occupy  the  broad  slope  between  that  un- 
rivaled terrace  and  the  Thames. 

"  No  wonder  Scott  brought  poor  little 
Jeanie  Deans  here!  "  exclaimed  Sonia;  "  hav- 
ing seen  it  himself  he  must  needs  make  some 
of  his  pen  children  behold  it." 

"  But  you  will  recall,"  said  Diana,  "  that  to 
Jeanie  it  meant  nothing  but  '  braw  rich  feed- 
ing for  the  cows.' ' 

The  sun  was  low  and  the  long  shadows  of 
the  trees  fell  athwart  the  emerald  lawn's  de- 
cline. Like  a  silver  bow  bent  the  river  through 
hazy  violet  of  the  distant  landscape  to  which 
dipped  the  great  azure  arch,  flecked  with  fleecy 
cumuli.  The  terrace  was  almost  deserted 
save  for  a  stolid  nursemaid  or  so  and  a  whistling 
errand  boy  who  turned  to  look  at  the  three- 
star  view. 

Our  cab  took  us  to  Richmond  Park  where 
we  elicited  the  supreme  scorn  of  a  young  buck 
by  pointing  a  camera  at  him,  as  he  lay  at  ease 
in  the  long  grass  near  the  grazing  herd.  Some 
ancient  oaks  still  rear  their  heads  above  the 
younger  trees;  but  many  are  yielding  to  the 
relentless  grip  of  age  and  their  bare  branches 
cut  rugged  lines  against  the  tender  summer 
sky.  Praised  be  the  name  of  John  Lewis,  a 
brewer  of  Richmond,  who  sued  the  crown  for 
right  of  carriageway  and  won,  when  Princess 


78       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Amelia,  daughter  of  George  II,  excluded  the 
public  from  Richmond  Park  by  building  a 
fence  around  it! 

After  tea  on  the  terrace  of  the  Star  and  Gar- 
ter, which  looks  down  on  that  same  silver 
sweep  of  the  river,  our  cab  brought  us  back 
to  Richmond  Terrace,  for  another  ravishing 
of  its  glorious  outlook.  He  directed  our  atten- 
tion to  Wick  House,  facing  the  terrace,  which 
had  been  built  as  a  residence  for  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds. 

We  strolled  down  through  the  Terrace  Gar- 
dens, pausing  at  the  fountain  where  the  Mar- 
quis of  Lansdowne's  mansion  once  stood,  and 
coveting  another  tea  at  the  tiny  thatched  tea 
house  that  was  once  used  as  a  playhouse  by 
the  children  of  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch.  Buc- 
cleuch  House,  farther  down,  has  passed  from 
the  family's  possession,  happily  for  those  who 
are  now  permitted  to  enjoy  the  gardens  for- 
merly surrounded  by  a  ducal  wall.  A  view  of 
the  river  from  the  sloping  gardens  was  so  fair 
that  we  needs  must  linger  and  let  it  sink  deep 
in  memory  before  seeking  the  inevitable  train 
for  London. 


CHAPTER   VI 

By  Coach  to  Guildford 

GLANCING  idly  through  a  guide  book  in 
quest  of  interesting  places  to  be  seen 
near  London,  Sonia,  who  likes  the  suggestive- 
ness  of  names,  was  attracted  by  that  of  Guild- 
ford. 

"  Here  is  a  place  we  cannot  afford  to  miss," 
she  said,  "  listen!  " 

'  Guildford  is  the  capital  of  Surrey.  It  is 
situated  in  that  depression  of  the  North  Downs 
through  the  River  Wey  passes.' ' 

'  What  are  downs? "  asked  Diana,  looking 
ashamed  of  her  ignorance. 

'  I  had  always  supposed  they  were  dunes,  but 
it  says  in  here  somewhere  that  they  are  '  softly 
rounded  hills.'  Sometimes  they  are  referred  to 
as  though  they  were  composed  of  chalk.  May 
I  read  more  to  you  about  Guildford?  " 

'  Alfred  the  Great  in  his  will  bequeathed 

79 


80       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Guildford  as  a  royal  demesne  to  his  nephew 
Ethelwald.'  Just  think  of  actually  seeing  a 
place  that  is  identified  with  Alfred!  " 

"  England  seems  to  be  as  replete  with  un- 
expected thrills  as  a  Wagner  opera.  What 
else  of  Guildford,  the  hitherto  unknown?  " 

'  There  may  have  been  a  Roman  station 
here.  During  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor, Alfred  the  Atheling,  son  of  Ethelred 
II,  was  seized  here  by  Godwin's  men  after 
being  lured  from  France,  and  his  Norman 
attendants  to  the  number  of  six  hundred  were 
massacred,  which  is  believed  to  have  formed  a 
link  in  the  chain  of  events  leading  to  Duke 
William's  invasion  of  England.' ' 

"  I  had  always  supposed,"  interrupted 
Diana,  "  that  the  incendiary  William  came 
over  to  conquer  England  because  nothing  con- 
querable remained  on  his  side  of  the  Channel 
and  he  wanted  a  change  of  scene  and  climate 
as  a  sauce  piquante  to  his  pleasant  and  chival- 
rous pastimes  of  fighting  and  firing.  So  there 
really  was  a  reason — a  chain  of  events;  and 
William's  Conquest  was  inspired  by  a  sense  of 
duty!  I  believe  I  shall  yet  admire  Duke  Wil- 
liam, founder  of  a  line  of  kings  and  the  Blue 
Book." 

"  '  The  most  prominent  building  in  Guild- 
ford  is  the  square  Norman  keep  of  the  old  cas- 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  81 

tie,  whose  ivy-clad  walls,  ten  feet  in  thick- 
ness, dominate  the  town  and  can  be  seen  for 
many  miles.  Below  the  castle  large  caverns 
in  the  chalk  are  believed  to  have  connected 
with  the  crypt  under  the  Angel  Hotel.' ' 
Sona  read  on,  ignoring  the  comments  of  her 
friend. 

'  We  shall  go  to  Guildford,"  announced 
Diana.  "  Now  we  must  go  down  to  the  Vic- 
toria and  book  our  seats  for  the  Brighton 
coach.  That  comes  next." 

At  the  hotel  disappointment  was  hurled  upon 
us  by  an  insolent  young  man  who  displayed  the 
petty  tyranny  peculiar  to  petty  persons  who 
have  attained  petty  power.  He  controlled  the 
disposing  of  seats  for  the  coaches  which  ply 
between  London  and  certain  nearby  places. 
We  had  known  only  of  that  which  was  driven 
by  an  American  millionaire  to  Brighton.  We 
had  invited  two  English  ladies  to  accompany 
us;  and  now  we  were  informed  with  un- 
necessary bluntness  that  the  Venture  would 
make  but  one  more  run,  all  the  seats  having 
been  booked  weeks  in  advance.  Thus  curtly 
were  we  dismissed.  As  Diana  took  up  her 
parasol  which  had  rested  on  the  counter,  some 
cards  caught  in  its  folds.  She  was  about  to 
replace  them  when  one  was  discovered  to  bear 
the  name  Guildford. 


82       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 
THE  RELIANCE 

Guildford  and  London  Coach 
Leaving  Victoria  Hotel  daily  at  10.45 

The  autocrat  admitted  that  there  was  such 
a  coach  and  that  its  daily  trips  would  continue 
for  several  weeks.  We  engaged  four  places 
for  the  morrow.  With  the  superb  nonchalance 
of  his  kind  he  accepted  the  guinea  gold  we 
poured  into  his  palm  for  the  privilege  of  driv- 
ing to  Guildford. 

;*  What  name,  please?  " 

"  Lady  Hanford-Burham,"  said  Diana, 
using  the  name  of  one  of  our  guests.  The 
effect  was  magical.  The  tyrant  was  trans- 
formed to  a  servility  so  abject  as  to  be  nau- 
seous. 

On  the  morrow's  golden  morn  we  set  forth 
amid  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  clear  notes  of 
the  guard's  horn,  through  the  throng  of  Pic- 
cadilly to  Kensington,  across  Hammersmith 
Bridge  and  so  once  more  out  of  London. 

The  box-seat  having  been  preempted,  her 
ladyship  and  Sonia  were  assigned  places  on 
the  second  seat  and  Miss  Hebert  sat  with 
Diana  on  the  back  seat  beside  the  guard,  whose 
gold-braided  coat  of  Lincoln  green  and  buff 
beaver  hat  made  him  almost  as  conspicuous  as 
did  the  notes  of  his  long  bright  horn  which 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  83 

merrily  wound  a  way  through  the  thorough- 
fares. 

Facing  them  were  two  men  who  talked  of 
horses  with  the  guard,  between  them  all  a 
camaraderie  born  of  mutual  interest.  They 
discussed  the  roan  mare — off-wheeler — mak- 
ing her  second  trip  with  the  coach.  The  guard 
turned  to  the  ladies. 

"  I  'ope  ye  are  not  feeling  nervous.  There's 
no  need,  for  we've  the  best  driver  in  England." 

Being  assured  that  the  ladies  were  not  in  the 
least  nervous,  he  nodded  and  drew  forth  the 
horn  for  another  fanfare.  The  elder  of  the 
two  men  on  the  opposite  seat,  both  of  whom 
had  listened  with  interest,  said  to  Diana: 

"Do  you  like  coaching  as  well  as  motor- 
ing?" 

'  That  depends  upon  whether  I  am  coaching 
or  motoring,"  she  replied.  '  To-day  I  think 
I  never  did  anything  more  delightful  than 
this." 

He  twinkled  after  the  manner  of  elderly 
men  when  talking  to  children  or  young  women. 
His  companion,  ruddy,  round-faced,  dressed  in 
gray  tweed,  asked  Miss  Hebert  if  she  knew  the 
road  to  Guildford. 

"  My  home  is  in  Cobham,"  he  said,  "  I  come 
up  to  my  office  in  London  every  day.  At  this 
season  I  leave  home  about  five  and  am  back 


84       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

on  my  farm  at  eleven  usually.  I'm  a  farmer 
and  a  countryman.  Is  it  not  so,  Tom?  I  raise 
shire  horses." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  from  New  York,"  said 
the  guard  to  Diana,  proud  of  his  perspicacity. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied,  "  for  not  saying 
Boston  or  Chicago.  Having  been  a  New 
Yorker  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  years,  I  like 
to  feel  that  I  look  like  one." 

He  scarcely  waited  for  her  to  finish,  so  eager 
was  he  to  tell  her  that  he  had  been  in  New 
York.  "  I  drove  on  the  coach  from  the  Hol- 
land House  to  Ardsley  for  two  seasons.  They 
gave  me  a  first  prize  and  a  loving  cup  for  blow- 
ing. Yes,  you've  some  good  'orses.  The 
'orses  on  this  coach  were  raised  in  America- 
Argentine — by  Mr.  M—  — .  He  got  three 
blues  at  the  show  last  night.  Perhaps  you  were 
there?  " 

We  were  now  passing  beyond  Barnes  Com- 
mon, where  among  the  furze  many  children 
were  merrily  romping ;  and  here  and  there  men 
lay  sleeping  as  they  do  in  the  London  parks. 
At  Roehampton  the  horses  were  changed.  All 
the  men  on  the  coach  climbed  down  to  witness 
this  proceeding  save  one  who  sat  with  a  woman 
on  the  same  seat  as  Sonia  and  Lady  Hanford- 
Burham.  He,  although  middle-aged,  was  quite 
evidently  a  newly  made  bridegroom,  else  surely 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  85 

some  of  the  sparkle  of  such  a  day  and  drive 
must  have  dissolved  his  stolid  solemnity  and  the 
self -absorption  of  this  pair. 

When  Sonia  and  her  companion  would  have 
commiserated  with  their  friends  on  the  back 
seat,  they  were  informed  that  Miss  Hebert  and 
Diana  had  been  pleasantly  conversing  with 
three  strange  men. 

"  I've  a  friend  in  Brooklyn,"  said  the  tweed- 
clad  one  when  the  coach  was  rumbling  on 
again  and  the  guard,  having  musically  an- 
nounced our  coming  to  whom  it  might  concern, 
replaced  the  horn  in  its  long  basket.  "  He 
comes  over  every  year  for  the  shooting.  Does- 
n't he,  Tom?  Sometimes  he  stops  but  a 
few  days;  but  he  says  one  day's  shooting  in 
Surrey  is  worth  a  longer  journey.  Prettiest 
county  in  England ;  isn't  it,  Tom?  "  "  Tom  " 
twinkled  at  the  ladies.  "  I  wonder  if  you  hap- 
pen to  know  him,  miss?  His  name  is  Bates." 

Diana  believed  not. 

'  Tom  "  said  he  knew  a  man  who  went  out 
to  the  States  about  thirty  years  ago.  His 
name  was  Dawlinson — Jim  Dawlinson.  The 
world  was  so  small;  could  the  lady  have  made 
his  acquaintance?  The  lady  requested  the 
name  of  the  place  in  which  the  friend  was  re- 
siding. Tom  plumbed  the  deeps  of  memory 
and  announced  with  a  double  twinkle : 


86       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  Springfield." 

"  Springfield  in  Ohio,  Illinois,  or  Massachu- 
setts?" asked  Diana,  wondering  if  she  could 
name  all  the  States  containing  a  Springfield. 

"  Eh?  I  do  not  know.  Just  Springfield, 
miss." 

We  were  crossing  Putney  Heath,  a  broad 
expanse  of  waste  land,  thick  with  gorse  and 
bracken  and  evidently  destined  to  become  a 
part  of  the  monster  city  whose  tentacles  are 
every  year  farther  reaching.  There  was  an 
old  prophecy  that  Hampstead  would  one  day 
be  the  center  of  London;  and  although  the 
growth  is  greater  in  that  direction  there  are 
indications  "  out  Putney  way  "  that  this  beau- 
tiful heath — where  Linnaeus,  seeing  for  the  first 
time  the  golden  glory  of  the  gorse  fell  to  his 
knees  in  thankfulness — may  be  seized  by  land 
agents  and  apportioned  in  patches  to  London 
wagemen.  The  gorse,  which  is  now  cultivated 
in  Sweden  as  carefully  as  the  American  velvet 
plant  (mullein)  is  in  English  gardens,  shall 
on  Putney  Heath  become  but  a  tradition. 

"  Over  there,  ladies,  on  Putney  Hill,  is 
Bowling  Green,  the  home  of  the  '  heaven-born 
statesman  ' — Pitt,"  added  Tom,  seeing  Diana's 
ignorance  of  the  sobriquet.  She  thought  of 
the  "heavy  news  of  Austerlitz,"  and  said: 

"  I  have  always  wished  he  could  have  with- 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  87 

stood  that  calamity  and  survived  the  decade 
between  it  and  Waterloo.  I  should  like  to 
have  been  an  Englishman  when  that  name 
rang  through  the  land !  " 

On  our  left  Wimbledon  Common  was  glid- 
ing by,  a  great  stretch  of  green  touched  here 
and  there  with  the  gold  of  the  gorse  patches. 

"  I  am  so  glad  this  is  the  right  season  for 
gorse,"  said  Diana.  "  I  have  always  feared 
it  might  not  be  in  bloom  when  I  should  come 
to  England."  The  four  English  persons 
laughed. 

"  I  see  you  have  not  heard  the  old  saying," 
say  the  tweed  one.  '  Kissing's  out  of  season 
when  the  gorse  is  out  of  bloom.' ' 

Afterwards  we  learned  that  this  was  once 
one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  the  commons  out- 
lying London.  Here  Jerry  Avershawe  dis- 
tinguished himself  as  a  "  Knight  of  the  Road  " 
and  caused  hearts  to  quake  and  purses  to  dis- 
appear when  post  chaises  came  this  way.  In 
the  year  of  his  majority  this  mock-heroic  youth 
possessed  of  a  melodramatic  fame  was  exe- 
cuted on  Kennington  Common,  where  Wesley 
and  Whitefield  were  to  preach  in  a  later  day 
and  where  park-loving  London  has  preserved 
a  breathing  place  of  much  beauty. 

Kingston's  antiquity  is  genuine  but  not  con- 
spicuous. Its  electric  tramways  and  heteroge- 


88       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

neous  buildings  are  of  to-day.  Imagination 
falters  when  bidden  to  picture  the  scene 
wherein  the  Witanagemot  proclaimed  the  sev- 
eral kingdoms  of  the  Heptarchy  to  be  united 
under  the  dominion  of  Egbert  of  .Wessex  in 
the  same  year  that  the  iron  crown  of  the  Lom- 
bards was  placed  upon  the  head  of  his  friend 
Charlemagne.  The  coronation  stone  of  the 
Saxon  kings  may  still  be  seen  near  Kingston's 
market  place. 

'  We  used  to  change  the  'orses  'ere,"  said 
the  guard,  "  but  the  Tzinns  aren't  what  they 
used  to  be,  so  we  go  on  to  Surbiton."  His 
pronunciation  was  delightful  to  Diana  who 
liked  the  flavor  of  his  Bow  Bells  inflection  quite 
as  much  as  she  admired  his  efforts  to  conceal 
it.  She  was  amused  also  at  the  point  of  view 
which  made  him  declare  to  the  gentlemen  oppo- 
site that  he  did  not  see  what  use  the  trams 
could  be  unless  they  had  been  designed  to  spoil 
driving. 

"  Hello!  Johnny,"  he  called  in  a  hearty  voice 
to  a  tiny  boy  in  the  street,  "  'ow's  your  dog 
to-day?" 

"  Why  don't  you  blow? "  shrilled  the  little 
voice  wistfully. 

Out  came  the  horn  as  we  whisked  around  a 
corner  and  we  looked  back  upon  the  utter  de- 
light glowing  in  the  small  face. 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  89 

The  Fox-and-Hounds  at  Surbiton  faces  the 
Thames,  from  which  it  is  separated  only  by 
the  width  of  the  road.  The  river  here  is  so  busy 
as  to  remind  one  of  the  city's  proximity,  while 
the  long  shady  roads  would  proclaim  it  far  dis- 
tant. The  inn's  pleasant  courtyard,  gay  with 
flowers  and  green  with  vines,  was  bustling  with 
hostlers.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  is 
the  park  of  Hampton  Court.  Diana  descended 
to  photograph  the  coach.  As  the  guard  helped 
her  to  regain  her  place  he  told  her  that  the  gen- 
tleman in  the  gray  tweed  was  a  Mr.  Belford 
and  that  "  Tom  "  was  Mr.  Sands,  both  wealthy 
Surrey  squires. 

Esher  is  pleasantly  situated  on  an  upland. 
The  village  is  small  and  possesses  many  charms 
for  foreign  eyes.  Its  rural  quiet  seems  infi- 
nitely remote  from  London,  and  indeed  is 
scarcely  known  save  to  those  who  have  bicy- 
cled, motored,  or  driven  through  its  shady 
highway.  Moreover,  it  is  so  unpretentious 
that  cycles  or  motors  but  rarely  pause  long 
enough  on  their  way  to  inquire  its  name. 
Here  a  beautiful  young  girl  who  had  been  lean- 
ing on  a  gate  watching  for  the  coach  came  out 
with  blush  and  smile  to  give  a  rose  to  the  guard, 
who  swung  low  to  receive  it,  and  no  doubt  said 
something  to  cause  the  roselike  blush  on  her 
cheek.  All  day  the  flower  glowed  in  his  coat. 


90       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  Bear  at  Esher  is  one  of  the  old  coaching 
inns.  The  two  pink  effigies  of  bears  on  the 
parapet  announce  its  name  unmistakably. 
While  the  horses  were  being  watered  Mr.  Bel- 
ford  told  the  ladies  of  a  pair  of  boots  highly 
treasured  by  the  landlord  as  having  been  worn 
by  the  postboy  who  drove  the  fugitive  Louis 
Philippe's  chaise  to  Claremont.  Even  if  the 
traveler  had  been  as  "great "  as  was  his  pon- 
derous body,  surely  the  postboy's  boots  would 
have  received  no  sanctification.  Yet  if  they 
give  joy  to  the  landlord  and  celebrity  to  his  inn 
— why  not? 

Sonia's  attention  was  directed  to  Claremont. 
She  needed  not  to  be  reminded  of  Clive's  asso- 
ciation with  the  estate;  and,  knowing  her  Ma- 
caulay,  she  remembered  that  "  the  peasantry  of 
Surrey  looked  with  a  mysterious  horror  on  the 
stately  house  which  was  rising  at  Claremont 
and  whispered  that  the  great  wicked  lord  had 
ordered  the  walls  to  be  made  so  thick  in  order 
to  keep  out  the  devil  who  would  one  day  carry 
him  away  bodily." 

It  is  said  that  they  still  tell  at  Esher  of 
Prince  Leopold's  parsimony,  a  habit  which  he 
had  brought  from  Saxe-Coburg  when  he  mar- 
ried Charlotte,  daughter  of  the  fourth  George, 
and  came  to  live  at  Claremont,  then  a  prop- 
erty of  the  crown.  What  would  England's 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  91 

history  have  been  had  Charlotte  lived  to  be 
queen  of  the  realm,  and  Leopold,  instead  of 
wearing  the  crown  of  Belgium,  had  become 
prince  consort;  and  there  might  have  been  no 
Queen  Victoria !  In  the  little  church  of  which 
we  caught  a  glimpse  behind  the  Bear  is  a  royal 
pew,  reminiscent  of  the  royal  pair. 

At  Lower  Green  is  the  picturesque  en- 
trance to  Esher  Place,  a  private  park  which 
has  some  historic  interest  and  a  glade  of  ancient 
beeches.  William  of  Wayneflete,  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  erected  his  episcopal  palace  here 
in  the  fifteenth  century.  While  Wolsey  bore 
the  same  title  he  partially  rebuilt  Waynflete's 
structure,  shortly  after  the  completion  of 
Hampton  Court  hard  by.  It  was  his  archi- 
tectural swan  song  and  became  virtually  his 
prison.  Of  this  but  little  is  left — only  the 
brick  gatehouse.  Mr.  Belford  told  us  that  re- 
cently much  of  the  ivy  had  been  removed  from 
the  building.  "  An  ugly  place  at  best,  I  call 
it,"  he  said. 

Said  the  Duke  of  Norfolk: 

Hear  the  king's  pleasure,  cardinal;  who  commands 

you 

To  render  up  the  great  seal  presently 
Into  our  hands,  and  to  confine  yourself 
To  Asher-house,  my  lord  of  Winchester's, 
Till  you  hear  further  from  his  highness. 


92       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Then  when  the  deposed  prelate  accepted  his 
doom  he  said: 

So,  farewell  to  the  little  good  you  bear  me. 
Farewell !  a  long  farewell  to  all  my  greatness ! 
This  is  the  state  of  man :  To-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope,  to-morrow  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honours  thick  upon  him; 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost; 
And — when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a-ripening — nips  his  root, 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventur'd, 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
This  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory ; 
But  far  beyond  my  depth:  my  high-blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me ;  and  now  has  left  me, 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  forever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye ! 
I  feel  my  heart  new-open'd:  O!  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man,  that  hangs  on  princes'  favours! 
There  is  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have; 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again. 

And  again: 

O  Cromwell,  Cromwell! 

Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  serv'd  my  king,  He  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  93 

"  Now,  ladies,"  exclaimed  the  guard,  watch 
in  hand,  as  the  last  of  Claremont's  pines  were 
passing;  "we  start  on  the  Fair  Mile.  Time 
it  if  you  like,  sirs."  The  road  pointed  toward 
the  horizon  as  steadily  as  a  Roman  highway; 
and  at  the  end  of  the  mile  the  men  exchanged 
nods  and  words  of  satisfaction  at  having  ac- 
complished a  marvel  of  speed.  The  driver,  too, 
turned  in  his  seat  and  said  to  the  guard:  "  Best 
ever! " 

"  Now  we  are  coming  to  Cobham,"  said  Mr. 
Belford  with  the  honest  pride  of  a  squire  in 
his  county  and  town.  '  We  have  shot  over 
every  rod  of  land  about  here;  haven't  we, 
Tom?" 

Tom  twinkled. 

"  My  friend  Tom,  here,"  continued  Mr.  Bel- 
ford,  "  rides  to  hounds  every  day  in  the  season. 
You  must  be  nearly  seventy,  aren't  you, 
Tom? " 

"  Seventy-two,"  amended  Tom  proudly. 

Now  and  then  during  the  morning  the  guard 
had  greeted  children  and  women  along  the 
road.  "  He  is  worse  than  any  sailor,"  laughed 
Mr.  Belford.  "  He  has  a  girl  in  every  cot- 
tage." 

"  I  fancy  you  cannot  throw  many  stones," 
said  Diana,  who  likes  to  read  people  by  their 
unconscious  revelations  and  had  observed  that 


94       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

old  and  young,  carters  and  gentlemen,  sought 
opportunity  to  greet  him. 

At  the  White  Lion — couchant — in  Cobham 
we  obtained  fresh  horses.  While  we  waited  a 
motor  drove  up.  Mr.  Belford,  who  had  been 
standing  on  the  inn  steps,  exclaimed : 

'  There's  the  wife  and  Harry !  "  He  greeted 
them  eagerly,  and,  glancing  toward  the  coach, 
evidently  informed  Mrs.  Belford  of  the  pres- 
ence of  Americans.  She  also  glanced  up  with 
some  interest. 

"  I  say!  "  said  her  ladyship,  standing  to  chat 
with  Miss  Hebert  and  Diana,  "  I  call  this 
rather  nice,  you  know." 

"  Rather,"  responded  the  English  lady  thus 
addressed.  Sonia  and  Diana  exchanged  radi- 
ant glances  and  a  few  expressive  gestures. 

'  The  wife  has  told  me  not  to  talk  too  much," 
said  Mr.  Belford  when  he  rejoined  us;  "I 
wonder  if  all  the  time  is  too  much?  " 

"  My  place  is  down  this  road  on  the  left  at 
Stoke  D'Abernon.  We  call  it  *  The  Tilt/  " 
was  his  reply  to  a  question  from  Miss  Hebert. 
"  Here  is  our  hospital.  Perhaps  you  ladies 
will  give  us  a  shilling  toward  its  support? 
Thank  you !  Not  a  penny  more.  The  town 
would  not  give  us  the  land  and  we  owe  the  hos- 
pital to  the  generosity  of  Lady  Z ." 

The  long,  low  red-roofed  concrete  building 


And  noic  we  were  driving  down  the  steep  High  Street  of  Guildford. 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  95 

above  the  road  looked  like  a  pleasant  place  in 
which  to  be  nursed  back  to  health. 

"  That  is  just  like  him!  "  said  Tom;  "  always 
gives  the  credit  to  somebody  else.  James  Bel- 
ford  made  this  hospital  what  it  is." 

"  Now  we  are  coining  to  my  shooting,"  in- 
terposed Mr.  Belford  in  some  embarrassment; 
"I've  a  caravan  in  those  woods  on  the  right 
where  I  sleep  under  the  pines  every  Saturday 
night  with  the  Doctor — my  favorite  dog." 

Tom  said  something  about  the  Ritz  Hotel. 
'  That  is  what  he  calls  my  caravan,"  explained 
the  other. 

"  You  would  understand  why,  miss,"  said 
Tom,  "  if  you  should  ever  be  invited  there  to  a 
hunt  breakfast." 

"  Who's  your  trainer  now? "  asked  the 
guard.  "  Slocum?  Never  heard  of  him. 
Where  did  you  get  him?  " 

"  I  ran  across  him  when  he  was  broke  and 
took  him  on.  Best  trainer  I  ever  had." 

At  the  Talbot  in  Ripley  the  horses  were 
halted  for  drink  and  sponging.  Have  you  seen 
the  Horticultural  Gardens  here?"  asked  Mr. 
Belford  of  Miss  Hebert.  '  Your  American 
friends  must  be  shown  through.  There  are 
no  finer  ones  in  England."  He  scribbled  the 
superintendent's  name  on  one  of  his  cards  and 
said  they  would  receive  every  attention. 


96       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

And  now  we  were  driving  down  the  steep 
High  Street  of  Guildford,  the  royal  demesne 
of  Ethelwald,  and  preserving  even  unto  this 
day  the  charm  of  England's  older  towns.  Con- 
spicuous in  the  foreground  was  the  clock  on 
the  Guildhall.  The  coach  passed  a  Tudor 
building  which  we  supposed  to  have  been  Arch- 
bishop Abbot's  Hospital  for  "  decayed  trades- 
men and  their  widows."  At  the  Lion  Hotel 
we  hurried  down  to  lunch,  determined  to  dis- 
pose thereof  as  quickly  as  possible,  so  as  to 
leave  time  afterwards  for  seeing  somewhat  of 
this  interesting  town.  We  found  the  men  of 
the  coach  at  a  long  table  where  places  had  been 
reserved  for  us.  The  bridal  couple  ate  in  stony 
silence  at  another  table. 

When  we  entered  the  room,  the  men,  hav- 
ing already  begun  the  meal,  rose  until  we  were 
seated — all  save  one.  He  of  the  box-seat,  busy 
with  a  slice  from  a  cold  joint,  did  not  even 
glance  up.  Diana  mentally  tagged  him  a  peer 
of  the  realm.  Conversation  was  general  and 
the  Reliance's  driver,  blonde  and  bronzed,  sit- 
ting at  the  head  of  the  table  genially  engaged 
therein.  Gradually  the  stolid  one  thawed, 
lifted  his  empurpled  visage,  and  adjusted  his 
monocle.  He  was  the  type  of  Briton  who  on 
the  stage  is  always  made  to  stroke  his  mustache 
and  exclaim:  "Haw!"  The  luncheon  was 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  97 

good,  the  conversation  delightful;  but  Sonia 
and  Diana  withdrew  as  soon  as  they  could. 
Wishing  to  save  later  hurry  they  stopped  to 
pay  the  hotel  charges  and  were  told  there  were 
none. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Diana. 

"  Mr.  Belford  has  paid  for  your  party,"  was 
the  smiling  rejoinder.  This  was  embarrassing, 
but  its  intent  we  knew  to  be  most  kind  and  hos- 
pitable ;  and  later  we  sought  an  opportunity  to 
thank  him. 

Now  we  had  but  a  short  time  in  which  to 
see  the  things  we  could  not  forego,  and  accord- 
ingly set  forth  to  view  the  square  keep  of 
Guildford 's  castle  at  a  pace  which  evidently 
startled  from  their  noontide  siesta  the  citizens 
peacefully  resting  in  the  castle's  garden.  This 
keep  is  smaller  and  somewhat  less  imposing 
than  that  of  Rochester;  but  as  no  two  cathe- 
drals are  wholly  alike,  so,  we  were  learning,  are 
no  two  of  England's  ruined  castles  entirely 
similar.  We  had  no  time  to  dawdle  and  dream 
here  as  we  did  at  Rochester;  but  we  had  seen 
enough  to  convince  us  that  Guildford  is  worthy 
of  a  much  longer  visit. 

Happily  St.  Mary's  Church  was  open.  Af- 
ter marveling  at  its  crude  yet  enduring  con- 
struction of  chalk  and  flint,  we  entered  the 
quiet  little  building  and  wondered  if  the  curi- 


98       Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ous  old  paintings  which  decorate  the  Baptist's 
chapel  were,  as  we  had  read,  from  the  hand  of 
William  of  Florence  during  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century.  The  bizarre  carvings  of 
the  roof  we  liked  because  they  tokened  the 
humorous,  though  grotesque  fancy  of  the  Nor- 
man sculptors. 

Mr.  Belford  had  told  us  of  the  cattle  and 
horse  market  held  in  Guildford  semi-annually, 
also  of  the  lamb  fair  on  Tuesdays  from  Easter 
to  Whitsuntide.  The  ordinary  "  corn  "  market 
is  held  on  Saturdays. 

;<  The  next  time  we  go  to  a  market  town,  do 
let  us  try  to  be  there  on  market  day!  I  have 
never  seen  an  English  market,  and  I  am  sure 
Covent  Garden  cannot  be  half  so  nice  as  one 
of  these  little  country  towns."  Thus  the  en- 
thusiastic Sonia. 

There  are  other  churches  in  Guildford  said 
to  be  worthy  a  visit  from  the  lover  of  the 
past. 

We  had  never  seen  a  chained  library  and  had 
rather  vague  notions  as  to  what  it  might  be. 
There  being  still  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
the  starting  of  the  Reliance  we  went  to  the 
grammar  school,  but  were  unable  to  obtain  ad- 
mission. A  photograph  of  the  library  pro- 
vided but  slight  compensation ;  for  surely  books 
so  precious  as  to  be  thus  safeguarded  must  be 


By  Coach  to  Guildford  99 

indeed  a  feast  for  lovers  of  rare  editions,  like 
ourselves. 

"  My  only  consolation  in  leaving  this  fasci- 
nating royal  demesne,"  said  Diana,  "  when  we 
have  but  begun  to  explore  it,  is  that  we  may 
include  it  in  our  list  of  geographical  friendships 
and  anticipate  visiting  it  again  in  the  near 
future.  Who  loves  an  acquaintance  who  has 
no  reserves  and  become  familiar  during  a  few 
hours? " 

The  River  Wey  with  its  "  handsome  stone 
bridge  of  five  arches  " ;  St.  Catherine's  Hall, 
across  the  bridge  where,  having  leisurely  as- 
cended, the  wide  view  might  be  enjoyed — say, 
at  sundown — after  the  little  ruined  chapel  on 
its  summit  had  been  inspected;  these  were 
among  friend  Guildford's  reserves. 

Nearby  were  Elizabethan  mansions,  Nor- 
man churches,  literary  and  artistic  pilgrimages, 
all  serenely  reposing  in  the  beauty  of  Surrey's 
North  Downs. 

There  was  a  bustle  of  activity  in  front  of  the 
Lion  Hotel;  the  smiling  guard,  in  whose  coat 
still  glowed  the  maid  of  Esher's  rose,  waited 
to  assist  us  to  our  places;  the  English  ladies, 
our  neglected,  but  also  smiling  guests,  compli- 
mented our  punctuality  and  as  three  deep 
notes  sounded  from  the  town  clock  we  set  forth 
for  London.  At  Cobham  the  monocled  box- 


100     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

sitter  alighted  and  after  discussing  the  horses 
being  put  to  the  coach,  drove  off  in  a  dog  cart. 
As  Sonia  took  his  place  she  asked  the  driver 
if  he  were  a — personage. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  miss;  he  is  M.  F.  H.  for  this 
district."  Sonia  wondered  whether  the  initials 
indicated  "  Member  from  Hurlingham "  or 
"Monocle  Fixed  Habit."  Lady  Hanford- 
Burham  leaned  forward  and  whispered: 
"  Master  of  the  Fox  Hounds,  you  know." 

Here  also  Mr.  Belford  and  his  friend  Tom 
left  us. 

There  were  still  a  few  thrills  in  reserve  for 
Sonia  before  the  day  ended.  Back  in  London, 
as  we  were  passing  Olympia,  where  motors, 
coaches,  and  cabs  were  bearing  away  the  dis- 
persing horse-show  audience  the  Reliance  was 
pulled  up  at  a  signal  from  a  distinguished-look- 
ing man  in  a  motor.  "  Mr.  Cowles,  who  had 
tooled  so  skillfully  all  day,  gave  his  lines  to  the 
newcomer  and  literally  took  a  back  seat.  The 
horses,  sensitive  to  the  hand  which  controlled 
them,  instantly  felt  the  difference.  Mr. 
Cowles's  calm  Anglo-Saxon  control  had  been 
replaced  by  the  nervous  grasp  of  a  southron. 

Never  had  Piccadilly  sparkled  more  bril- 
liantly than  on  this  summer  evening.  The 
police  directed  with  perfect  ease  the  four  steady 
lines  of  traffic  in  each  direction.  Several  times 


By  Coach  to  Gruildford  101 

our  coach  was  obliged  to  come  to  a  stop  and 
each  time  Sonia's  heart  leaped  lest  the  halt  be 
too  late  to  save  the  horses  from  injury.  Mr. 
Cowles  had  told  her  that  their  owner,  who  was 
now  driving,  required  that  the  coach  return  to 
the  Victoria  punctually  if  the  horses  were 
killed  in  order  to  accomplish  it.  Sonia  at  the 
moment  was  not  sufficiently  logical  to  realize 
that  if  the  horses  were  killed  in  the  attempt, 
there  would  be  less  probability  of  punctuality. 
To  the  golden,  triumphant  notes  of  the  horn 
we  drew  rein  at  the  hotel  precisely  at  the  ap- 
pointed moment. 


CHAPTER   VII 

Ely 

ELY  is  not  for  the  map  swallower  who, 
bound  Scotland  ward  while  "doing" 
Great  Britain,  stops  off  at  Lincoln  or  pauses  at 
York  long  enough  to  catch  his  breath — and 
lose  it.  Ely  is  for  the  dilettante  who,  on  his 
first  "  grand  tour,"  has  wolfed  a  few  cathedral 
towns  which  lay  along  the  prescribed  route 
and  bolted  such  dry  necessities  as  Strat ford- 
on- A  von  or  Glasgow  where  the  speed  limit  has 
not  yet  been  determined,  and  who,  having  dis- 
covered the  charm  of  travel  sans  itinerary 
craves  a  more  leisurely  repast  of  sight-seeing 
and  forsakes  the  highways  to  invite  his  soul  far 
from  the  dust  and  din. 

We  were  unhurried.  Our  comfortable  Lon- 
don lodgings  to  which  we  might  return  when- 
soever we  chose  as  to  a  home  made  byway  ad- 
venturings  the  more  enjoyable  because  we  were 

102 


Ely  103 

spared  the  possible  discomforts  of  chance  inns ; 
and  to  travel  minus  "  boxes  "  is  to  travel  in 
comfort. 

For  once,  however,  we  deemed  it  wiser  to 
remain  overnight,  Ely  and  Cambridge  being 
but  a  few  miles  apart,  and  neither  could  be 
swallowed  whole  in  a  few  hours  even  by  the 
most  voracious  of  ostrich- Americans. 

Thanks  to  our  ignorance  of  Inner  Circle 
and  Outer  Circle  accommodations  in  London's 
Underground  Railway,  we  had  waited  at  Man- 
sion House  Station  so  long  as  to  lose  the  mid- 
morning  train  for  Ely,  which  place  we  could 
not  now  reach  until  after  noon.  While  we 
waited  at  the  Great  Eastern  terminal  Diana 
bethought  her  of  certain  signs  we  had  seen  in 
the  railway  carriages  and  asked  a  pink-cheeked 
policeman  how  we  could  obtain  a  luncheon 
basket.  He  said  we  might  wire  ahead — or  the 
guard  on  the  train  would  do  so  for  us — and 
the  basket  would  be  ready  for  us  at  any  station 
we  chose.  We  were  only  going  to  Ely?  Then 
we  might  step  into  the  station  restaurant  at 
the  bottom  of  this  platform  and  order  a  bas- 
ket put  into  our  carriage.  We  glanced  over 
the  tariff  shown  us  by  the  restaurant's  bewhis- 
kered  head  waiter  and  ordered  a  basket  for  two 
at  half  a  crown  each,  very  skeptical  as  to  its 
probable  contents.  Scarcely  were  we  seated  in 


104     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

a  brown-cushioned  third-class  carriage — our 
handbags  tenderly  placed  in  the  rack  by  a 
porter — and  asking  of  each  other  why  any- 
body rode  first  class  when  the  only  discover- 
able difference  other  than  price  was — to  us 
as  yet — merely  in  the  color  of  the  upholstery, 
behold  a  cheery  boy  bearing  a  willow  hamper 
which  he  knew  by  some  unimaginable  instinct 
was  ours.  While  the  train  bore  us  out  of  the 
grime  of  London  into  the  green  of  England 
we  proclaimed  the  luncheon  basket's  con- 
tents to  be  a  Lucullus  feast.  The  compart- 
ment in  which  we  rode  had  been  locked  by 
the  guard  and  we  enjoyed  our  easily  obtained 
privacy. 

"  It  would  seem,"  said  Diana,  meditatively 
dismembering  her  portion  of  chicken,  at  which 
she  only  glanced  occasionally  to  prevent  its 
slipping  from  the  plate—  "  it  would  seem  to  me 
that  the  Normans,  whom  I  had  always  believed 
to  be  only  fighters,  did  nothing  but  build 
churches  and  castles.  Did  you  notice  the  little 
square-towered  church  over  there  among  the 
trees?" 

'  They  went  out  now  and  then  to  a  hack- 
fest  when  they  wished  to  assert  their  capacity 
to  conquer  or  perhaps  merely  to  keep  their 
weapons  from  the  rust  of  disuse;  and  when 
they  were  tired  or  there  was  nothing  left  of 


The  delicate  curves  of  the  carven  stone  stairway  leading  to  the  organ  loft. 


Ely  105 

the  enemy  but  the  space  it  occupied  they  built 
churches  to  the  glory  of  God  as  atonement  for 
such  trifling  offenses  as  burning,  looting,  and 
so  forth  which  might  have  been  committed  dur- 
ing said  hackfest.  The  loot  was  so  rich  they 
had  to  build  castles  to  contain  it." 

"  If  I  had  been  a  British  subject  in  those 
days,  I  should  have  quietly  folded  my  tents  and 
moved  into  Normandy.  It  must  have  been 
depopulated  after  1066;  and  surely  England 
was  overcrowded." 

The  town  of  Ely  exists  mainly  because  of  its 
cathedral.  And  like  many  of  England's  ca- 
thedrals this  one  stands  upon  a  commanding 
hill,  one  of  the  few  in  the  fenlands  of  Cam- 
bridgeshire. 

A  summer  shower  had  overtaken  us.  We 
had  not  been  sufficiently  forethoughtful  as  to 
determine  upon  an  inn.  The  only  'bus  at  the 
station  appertained  to  the  "  Bell,"  and  as  the 
vehicle's  appearance  commended  the  inn's 
management,  we  yielded  our  handbags  to  the 
polite  solicitations  of  the  Bell's  "  boots."  Up 
a  steep  narrow  street  we  were  borne,  past  many 
houses  of  old  plaster  and  age-blackened  beams 
to  pause  at  length  before  the  plain  front  of  the 
Bell,  whose  window  ledges  bore  boxes  of 
geraniums  in  bloom.  We  engaged  an  "  apart- 
ment," declined  luncheon  and,  as  rain  was  still 


106     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

falling  heavily,  the  'bus  bore  us  the  short  re- 
maining distance  to  the  cathedral. 

Trusting  that  we  might  later  have  an  oppor- 
tunity for  more  than  a  glance  at  the  exterior, 
we  hastened  into  the  Gallilee  porch  at  the 
west  end. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Sonia,  pensively  regarding 
the  porch's  details,  "  that  restoration  need  not 
be  so  patent  or  so  complete.  Almost  would  I 
prefer  crumbling  ruins  like  Rome  or  Karnak, 
which  permit  some  play  to  imagination,  to  this 
painstaken  patchwork  of  Sir  Gilbert — or  was 
it  Sir  Christopher? — which  tells  the  whole  story 
without  the  charm  of  personality." 

"  Evidently  the  people  of  England  do  not 
share  your  preference,"  Diana  returned. 
'  This  lancet  decoration  really  is  beautiful." 

The  high  Norman  windows  of  clerestory 
and  triforium  but  emphasize  the  great  height 
and  narrowness  of  the  nave  which  is  unlighted 
below  and  seemed  to  us  coldly  austere.  Per- 
haps had  the  sun  streamed  in  through  the  lofty 
arches  the  effect  would  have  been  pleasanter. 

After  Rochester  the  dimensions  of  this  ca- 
thedral seemed  to  us  vaster  than  some  of  those 
on  the  continent  which  we  knew  to  be  larger. 

The  most  beautiful  portion  of  the  interior 
in  our  unlearned  but  interested  judgment  was 
the  octagon  "  lantern  "  which  renders  impossi- 


Ely  107 

ble  any  regret  for  the  fall  of  the  central  tower 
that  preceded  it.  And  how  fitting  that  Alan 
de  Walsingham,  whose  "  supreme  constructive 
genius  led  to  the  building  "  of  the  present  tower 
and  lantern,  should  have  been  buried  beneath 
this  monument  to  his  masterly  ability! 

Flos  operatorum  dum  vixit  cor  pore  salus 

Hie  jacet  ante  chorum  Prior  entumulatus  Alanu*. 

This  is  Walsingham's  epitaph;  but  the  sup- 
posed place  of  his  long  rest,  just  in  front  of 
where  the  stone  Norman  choir  screen  had  been 
until  its  demolition  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago,  is  marked  by  a  once  brass-inlaid 
stone  showing  a  mitred  figure  bearing  a  cro- 
sier. In  the  various  rearrangement  of  stones 
monumental  and  structural  it  is  quite  probable 
that  some  worthy  bishop  or  prior  has  lost  his 
rightful  slab  and  that  of  the  unprotesting  Alan 
may  have  been  destroyed.  Surely,  however, 
nothing  could  destroy  the  repose  of  him  who 
conceived  such  an  architectural  triumph,  what- 
soever slab  might  be  superimposed  upon  the 
tomb  in  which  he  has  lain  about  four  hundred 
years. 

It  is  deporable  that  no  fragment  of  the  Nor- 
man screen  was  left  or  reproduced  when  the 
choir  was  removed  to  the  east  end  of  the  build- 
ing. Yet  it  is  fortunate  that  the  choir  was  not 


108     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

left  there,  for  its  present  position  is  the  most 
imposing  possible. 

"  The  '  splendid  timber  work '  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  lantern  is  a  pleasanter  means  of 
producing  a  crick  in  the  back  of  the  neck  than 
a  fifty-story  building  on  Manhattan  Island," 
said  Diana,  temporarily  disloyal  to  home. 

In  the  transepts  are  substantial  remains  of 
the  labors  of  those  sturdy  masons  who  followed 
hard  upon  the  heels  of  William  of  Normandy. 
Traces,  too,  of  the  color  which  once  warmed  the 
grim  walls  are  discernible.  It  is  a  far  cry  even 
from  their  time  to  the  ancient  beginning  of 
this  cathedral's  history. 

Three  years  after  St.  Augustine  founded 
Rochester  Cathedral  he  had  journeyed  as  far 
as  the  Isle  of  Ely  in  his  missionary  zeal  and 
established  a  church  at  Cratendune,  a  mile  dis- 
tant from  the  present  site.  This  assertion 
comes  from  Friar  Thomas,  and  although  noth- 
ing remains  to  prove  it,  to  disprove  is  equally 
impossible.  Sixty-six  years  later  Etheldreda, 
a  daughter  of  Anna,  King  of  East  Anglia— 
who  had  received  the  isle  of  Ely  as  a  marriage 
portion  when  she  became  wife  to  Tonbert, 
Ealdorman  of  the  South  Fenmen  and,  upon 
a  second  marriage  with  Egfrid,  son  of  Nor- 
thumbria's  king,  was  dowried  with  large 
estates  in  that  kingdom — was  persuaded  by 


Ely  109 

Wilfrid,  Bishop  of  York,  to  devote  all  of  her 
possessions  to  religious  purposes.  A  few  years 
after  the  second  marriage  she  forsook  her 
northern  lands  and  came  to  Ely's  Isle,  where 
she  founded  a  monastery  that  she  might  live  in 
seclusion  and  religious  devotion.  She  was, 
naturally,  its  first  abbess;  although  she  per- 
mitted the  establishment  to  house  monks  as  well 
as  nuns.  At  her  death  in  678  her  sister  Sex- 
burga  continued  her  work.  Some  years  later, 
the  white  marble  sarcophagus  which  contained 
Etheldreda's  body  was  placed  in  the  Saxon 
church  which  had  been  erected  on  the  site  of 
the  present  cathedral;  and  for  almost  a  thou- 
sand years  her  tomb  was  the  bourne  of  religious 
pilgrims  from  far  and  near.  With  Ethel- 
dreda  we  are  hand  in  hand  when  we  stand  be- 
fore the  little  cross  erected  by  her  in  memory 
of  Ovinus,  her  faithful  steward. 

The  Danes,  fierce  ravagers  of  England's 
peace,  bore  their  brands  as  far  as  Ely  and  here 
committed  one  of  their  orgies  of  fire  and  sword. 
Patient  England  rebuilded  here  as  elsewhere, 
promptly  but  more  wisely. 

After  the  Danes'  depredation  King  Alfred, 
the  gentle  and  beloved,  founded  here  a  college 
of  priests.  A  century  later  it  became  a  Bene- 
dictine monastery,  and  in  1071  Edgar,  an  Athe- 
ling  who  might  have  been  King  of  England 


110     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

had  he  lived,  and  who  had  enlisted  the  support 
of  the  abbey,  was  obliged  after  a  prolonged  de- 
fense under  Hereward—  "  the  last  of  the  Eng- 
lish " — to  surrender  this  last  Saxon  stronghold 
to  Duke  William.  Under  Abbot  Simeon,  a 
kinsman  of  William,  the  castle  and  cathedral 
builder,  the  present  minster  was  begun. 

The  "  boldly  clustered  marble  pier  with  its 
detached  shafts,"  so  praised  by  Professor  Free- 
man, we  did  not  admire  as  much  as  the  massive 
strength  of  Rochester's  round  columns. 

One  or  two  memorial  plates  of  modern  date 
prove  conclusively  the  absence  of  humor  which 
characterized  our  British  forebears,  whose 
quaint  phraseology  was  nevertheless  quite  sin- 
cere, be  it  supposed.  One  states  that — 

In  this  place  lies  ye  body  of 
RICHARD  ELLISTON 

Ay  of  such  uncommon  Endowments  singular  Modesty 
Sweetness  of  Temper  engaging  Behaviour  as  could 

not  but  inspire 
His  Relations   and  friends  with  the  most  pleasing 

Hopes 

But  alas  all  these  were  defeated  in  an  instant  by  an 
Unhappy  Death  occasioned  by  the  Kick  of  a  Horse 
August  4th  1744.  In  the  13th  year  of  his  Age. 

Another  smacks  of  romance  and  marital  de- 
votion : 


Ely  111 

Near  this  place  lieth  the  Body  of 
DAME   MARTHA 

Daughter  of  Mr.  Pennington  of  Suffolke 

Relict  of  Robert  Mingay  Esqr.  and  wife  of 

SIR  ROGER   JENYNS 

Who  put  up  this  for  her. 
She  died  in  Anno  1704  and  according  to 

her  desire 
Interred  in  the  Vault  here  with  her  first  husband. 

While  Sonia  bemoaned  inaudibly  the  vandal- 
ism that  tore  out  the  memorial  brasses  from 
the  pavement  to  the  south  of  the  choir,  Diana 
was  assiduously  copying  mason  marks  from  the 
stones  near  the  base  of  a  wall  column. 

"  I  don't  believe  they  are  genuine,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  but  I  like  to  think  they  may  be." 

A  clergyman  was  showing  two  men  about 
the  cathedral.  We  caught  occasional  bits  of 
his  information  and  longed  for  more,  but  had 
not  temerity  to  venture  nearer.  We  stepped 
out  into  a  corner  of  the  churchyard  bounded 
on  three  sides  by  the  walls  of  the  building.  A 
verger  approached  and  called  our  attention  to 
some  details  in  the  decoration  of  windows.  He 
said  he  was  the  oldest  of  Ely's  present  bedes- 
men. The  clergyman  we  had  seen  was  one  of 
the  canons. 


"  I  hope  he  won't  go  off,"  said  Sonia,  "  I'd 
like  to  ask  him  some  questions,  but  I  am  afraid 
he  might  not  be  willing  to  answer  them." 

"  So  you  have  not,  then,  the  courage  to  face 
the  canon's  mouth?  "  returned  Diana. 

A  few  moments  later  courage  and  canon 
were  both  forgotten.  We  had  found  all  the 
beauty  and  interest  we  could  wish  in  the  ex- 
quisite little  chantries  of  bishops  West  and 
Alcock,  grotto-like  specimens  of  the  elaborate 
stone  carvings  of  the  Decorated  period;  in  the 
delicate  curves  of  the  carven  stone  stairway 
leading  to  the  organ  loft  and  of  some  of  the 
tombs.  Wood  carving,  too,  in  the  matter  of 
choir  stalls  as  well  as  up  aloft  in  the  lantern 
adds  its  dominant  note  to  the  arpeggio  of  Ely's 
beauty. 

'  When  I  looked  at  the  Cromwell  pictures 
in  the  House  of  Commons  and  listened  to  Sir 
Robert's  eulogy  of  that  bold  warrior  I  felt 
that  my  schoolgirl  dislike  of  him  was  un- 
just; but  when  I  think  of  him  striding  at  the 
head  of  a  mob  through  this  cathedral,  too 
uncouth  to  remove  his  hat,  too  unreasoning  to 
know  that  this  was  just  as  truly  the  spirit  house 
of  God  as  any  dissenting  chapel,  I  feel  a  hate 
for  him  as  cold  and  relentless  as  those  icy  rages 
which  Richard  Yea  and  Nay  knew  so  well. 
Fancy,"  exclaimed  Diana;  "his  daring  to 


Ely  113 

stable  his  horses  in  this  Lady  Chapel,  every 
corbel  and  medallion  of  which  is  so  sacredly 
beautiful!" 

"  I  always  think  of  Oliver  Cromwell  as  un- 
clean," responded  Sonia.  "  His  person  in 
every  picture  I  have  ever  seen  concerning  him 
always  suggests  an  unshaven,  badly  tailored 
fanatic  whose  mind  stood  in  greater  need  of 
cold  tubbing  than  his  body." 

Of  the  old  cloisters  enough  remains  to  give 
free  rein  to  fancy;  and  the  prior's  doorway  is 
the  most  elaborate  bit  of  Norman  decoration 
we  had  yet  seen. 

The  rain  had  ceased.  As  we  emerged  from 
the  vaulty  coldness  of  the  cathedral  the  warm 
air,  sweet  with  rain-steeped  perfume,  greeted 
like  a  caress.  Around  and  about  the  grounds 
we  strolled,  peered  through  the  fence  at  quiet 
graves  among  the  yews  and  joyed  in  masses  of 
tall  pink  valerian  self-sown  amid  the  deep  moss 
upon  an  ancient  Gothic  wall. 

The  custom  of  the  country  is  usually  a  good 
one.  We  had  learned  to  welcome  the  tea  hour. 
The  cheerful  cup  was  set  before  us  in  a  mu- 
seum-like upper  chamber  in  an  old  house  on  the 
steep  High  Street. 

Some  of  the  miscellaneous  contents  of  the 
room  were  antique;  the  rest  were  merely  an- 
tiquated. But  when  we  saw  dragging  chains 


114     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

which  had  been  dug  up  from  a  Roman  road 
nearby,  and  dozens  of  horseshoes  worn  thin  by 
Albion's  flinty  roads  nearly  two  thousand  years 
ago  and  buried  until  now,  we  forgot  that  Ethel- 
dreda's  days  were  "  old,"  in  recalling  the  clank 
of  CaBsar's  legions  on  their  northward  march. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  street  we  found  a  canal- 
like  river  which  proved  to  be  the  Ouse. 

"  I  wonder  why  so  many  of  England's  rivers 
have  but  one  syllable?  Colne,  Dart,  Thames, 
Exe,  Wye- 

"  What  are  all  those  white  things  over  there 
against  the  fence? "  asked  Sonia.  '  They 
must  be  osiers  drying  for  baskets  and  chairs," 
she  hazarded. 

"  How  restful  it  all  is!  That  woman  in  the 
boat  looks  as  if  she  had  never  hurried  in  her 
life.  Is  there  such  a  place  as  London?  "  sighed 
Diana.  '  Thaulow  should  have  painted  these 
red  roofs  reflected  in  the  water." 

We  walked  along  the  narrow  path  beside  the 
river  and  crossed  the  arched  bridge  for  a  bet- 
ter view  of  the  cathedral  upon  its  hill,  so  sur- 
prising a  feature  of  this  level  landscape.  We 
should  have  liked  to  know  where  stood  the  cas- 
tle which  a  bishop  of  Ely  had  erected  for  the 
Empress  Maud  during  her  war  with  Stephen, 
but  there  was  none  to  tell. 

"  I  think,"  said  Diana,  "  that  the  present 


The  present  peace  is  the  more  palpable  because  of  what  has  been. 


Ely  115 

peace  of  a  place  where  bitterest  battles  have 
occurred  is  the  more  palpable  because  of  what 
has  been." 

These  nether  lands  of  Britain  need  no  wind- 
mills to  enhance  their  broad  tranquillity.  The 
great  dome  of  the  sky  meets  the  distant  low 
horizon  in  a  haze  of  pearl  and  silver. 

When  we  ascended  again  into  the  town  we 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  battlemented  turrets 
of  the  cathedral's  west  end  and  were  struck 
by  its  resemblance  to  some  medieval  schloss 
built  for  protection  rather  than  as  a  pacific 
approach  to  a  temple. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  arose  to  walk  in 
the  cathedral  park  and  to  find  the  Oliver  Crom- 
well house  in  the  town.  It  faces  the  village 
green,  and  is  far  more  humble  in  appearance 
than  one  would  expect  a  residence  of  the  stren- 
uous Protector  to  be. 

From  each  new  point  of  view  Alan's  lan- 
tern is  more  impressive  than  before;  from  the 
river  at  evening,  from  our  windows  while  it 
shimmered  in  moonlit  mystery  and  the  white 
veil  of  morning,  from  the  broad  meadows  of 
the  park  and  from  the  early  train  to  Cambridge 
the  beauty  of  "  the  only  Gothic  dome  in  exist- 
ence "  was  less  a  thing  of  chiseled  stone  than  of 
spiritual  exaltation  made  manifest. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

Cambridge 

A1  last  a  market  day!  Instead  of  booths 
strung  along  half  a  dozen  streets,  how- 
ever, as  in  Switzerland,  Cambridge's  market 
was  spread  in  a  square  and  presented  a  gay 
galaxy  of  color.  We  should  have  liked  to  buy 
a  chicken  whose  legs  and  wings  were  demurely 
crossed  and  decorated  with  greens.  Sonia, 
lover  of  baskets  and  cheerful  bearer  of  bur- 
dens, actually  offered  to  carry  home  provisions 
for  Sunday  dinner  in  order  to  justify  the  pur- 
chase of  an  immoderately  large  basket. 

'  You  know  we  always  have  a  slice  from 
Mrs.  Dodson's  joint  on  Sunday.  Buy  the 
basket  if  you  must;  but  I'll  warrant  you  will 
find  more  tempting  things  to  fill  it  than  these 
delectable  strawberries  and  lettuces."  Thus 
Diana. 

Ely's  quietude  had  been  restful.    Cambridge 

116 


Cambridge  117 

was  bustling  with  all  sorts  of  activity.  There 
was  a  gala  atmosphere  in  the  crowds  that  was 
not  induced  by  market  day  alone.  College 
boys  wearing  hideous  broad-striped  blazers 
were  everywhere.  With  most  of  them  were 
girls,  not  so  daintily  dressed  as  American  girls, 
but  pretty  as  are  youth  and  happiness  the  world 
over. 

Scarcely  had  we  turned  away  from  the  mar- 
ket ere  we  forgot  its  incendiary  effect  upon  the 
money  in  our  purses.  The  window  of  a  china 
shop  displayed  tea  sets  decorated  with  the 
arms  of  the  various  colleges  in  the  university. 
Diana's  petty  cash  was  readily  losing  its  bal- 
ance while  she  counted  the  cost  in  dollars  of  a 
fourteen-shilling  tea  set.  Sonia,  strong  in 
her  self-control  now  that  the  baskets  were 
well  behind,  laid  firm  hold  upon  her  friend's 
arm. 

"Did  we  come  here  to  see  the  university  or 
to  buy  china? "  she  asked.  Diana  closed  her 
purse  and  was  saved. 

'  We  can  stop  here  on  our  way  to  the  station 
this  afternoon.  Then  we  should  not  have  to 
carry  it  all  day,"  she  compromised. 

We  entered  the  quadrangle  of  Corpus 
Christi  and  the  china  shop  fell  to  limbo.  Black- 
gray  walls  on  all  sides  made  no  architectural 
pretense,  yet  bespoke  a  dignity,  an  atmosphere 


118     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

of  intellectuality  such  as  can  only  result  from 
age  and  long  accustom.  Every  window — and 
there  were  many — bore  upon  its  sill  a  box  of 
scarlet  geraniums.  The  bright  flowers  pre- 
cluded a  too  great  solemnity  and  the  whole 
effect  liked  us  well. 

"  I  wish  there  were  only  one  college  in  Cam- 
bridge," said  Sonia.  '  This  is  so  nice  I  should 
like  to  linger  indefinitely  and  admire  it.  That 
passage  seems  to  lead  into  another  court."  In 
the  old  court  we  stood  breathless  with  surprise 
and  delight,  for  here  the  original  structure, 
five  hundred  and  fifty  years  old,  surround- 
ed us. 

Pembroke  came  next.  In  its  "  quad  "  we  be- 
came enthusiastic  over  a  beautiful  clock  tower. 
A  spectacled  man  of  the  hirsute  sort  that  re- 
sembles a  Skye  dog  was  pottering  about  some 
flower  beds.  When  politely  interrogated  as  to 
whether  we  might  photograph  the  clock  tower, 
he  looked  as  though  he  were  going  to  bark  in 
the  shrill  yet  mushy  voice  we  knew  he  must 
have. 

"  It  is  not  customary,"  he  said  in  a  manner 
he  probably  supposed  expressive  of  profes- 
sorial dignity. 

From  the  ivy-clad  inner  court  of  Pembroke 
we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  gardens  which  we 
dared  not  enter,  lest  the  Skye  come  worrying 


Cambridge  119 

at  our  heels,  though  we  longed  to  see  Spenser's 
mulberry  tree. 

In  the  Fitzwilliam  Museum — with  its  classic 
facade — there  are  a  few  fine  paintings :  a  Rem- 
brandt portrait  of  himself,  a  Palma  Vecchio 
Venus  and  Cupid,  Titian's  Venus  and  the  Lute 
Player,  and  one  of  the  best  Veroneses  out  of 
Italy,  Hermes,  Herse,  and  Agraulos.  An 
exhibition  of  old  English  colored  "  comic " 
prints  drove  us,  after  a  glance  or  two,  in  loath- 
ing from  the  hideous  vulgarity  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  We  asked  to  see  the  museum's 
rich  collection  of  autograph  music  and  illumi- 
nated missals,  but  were  told  that  these  could 
not  be  shown  to  visitors  unaccompanied  by 
graduates  of  the  university. 

Peterhouse,  as  St.  Peter's  College  is  famil- 
iarly called,  was  shown  us  by  a  guide  who  said 
this  was  the  oldest  college  of  them  all.  It  was 
founded  in  1257  by  Hugh  de  Balsham,  a 
bishop  of  Ely.  The  history  of  Cambridge  is 
interwoven  with  that  of  Ely.  Ely's  bishop  is 
still  visitor  of  four  colleges  in  the  university 
and  chooses  one  of  two  candidates  named  by 
the  "  Society  "  for  mastership  in  St.  Peter's. 
The  architecture  of  St.  Peter's  is  not  imposing, 
externally.  The  chapel  occupying  the  center 
of  the  quad — which,  being  inclosed  on  but  three 
sides  by  the  college  buildings  is  therefore  not 


120     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

a  quad — is  dark  and  seldom  within,  but  the  glass 
is  rich  in  tone  as  is  also  the  ancient  carved  oak. 
The  most  interesting  portion  of  the  whole  was, 
to  us,  the  hall,  entered  from  the  inner  court— 
a  beautiful  modern  room  of  ancient  design.  In 
the  center  of  some  of  its  leaded  windows  are 
insets  designed  by  that  superb  colorist,  Burne- 
Jones.  The  abnormality  of  poets  is  pardon- 
able, but  oft  amusing ;  and  we  laughed  at  some 
of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  the  bard  of  Stoke 
Poges. 

In  the  church  of  St.  Mary  the  Less  are  some 
memorial  tablets  to  members  of  the  family  of 
America's  first  President,  who  was  first  in  three 
other  respects. 

"  Before  I  see  any  more  colleges,"  said 
Diana;  "  I  want  to  find  the  little  church  that 
has  a  pre-Norman  tower."  Distances  are  short 
in  Cambridge,  and  we  found  it  behind  "  Cor- 
pus." The  street  on  which  St.  Benet's  humbly 
retires  is  so  narrow  we  could  not  obtain  a  pho- 
tograph of  the  low,  square  tower  whose  sim- 
ple ruggedness  might  well  have  outlived  a 
thousand  years  or  more.  We  peeped  through 
the  tall  iron  fence  and  admired  the  entrance 
to  a  passage  into  the  street  beyond.  Sonia 
wanted  to  see  the  interior  of  the  church;  but 
timidity  would  have  prevented  had  not  Diana 
gently  tried  the  door  of  the  church  and  found 


Cambridge  121 

it  unlocked.  We  entered  and  saw  a  kindly 
faced  clergyman  in  his  black  cassock,  talking 
to  an  old  woman.  Seeing  hesitation  and  in- 
quiry in  our  mien  he  nodded  to  us  kindly. 
Diana  said  we  were  interested  in  the  church— 
and — might  we  be  permitted  to  see  the  inte- 
rior? Whereupon  his  demeanor  inferred  that 
interest  had  been  manifested  in  the  theme 
which  he  most  dearly  loved.  He  consulted  his 
watch. 

'  In  ten  minutes  there  will  be  a  short  serv- 
ice. If  you  would  like  to  return  at  twelve  I 
shall  be  most  happy  to  show  you  the  church." 
We  came  on  the  King's  Parade,  opposite  the 
handsome,  vine-draped  stone  screen  that  shields 
the  outer  court  of  King's  College  from  the 
street.  Ever  since  that  day  the  mention  of 
King's  brings  to  mind  its  beautiful  chapel,  a 
marvel  of  the  most  marvelous  period  of  Gothic 
architecture,  and  rightly  called  the  "  Glory  of 
Cambridge."  Our  eyes  followed  every  lovely 
line  of  roof,  window,  and  stall  when  we  had  re- 
luctantly withdrawn  them  from  the  chapel's 
exterior  and  passed  through  the  delicately 
carved  doorway  into  the  lofty  nave.  We  knew 
how  grotesque  had  sometimes  been  the  whims 
of  medieval  stone  carvers;  but  never  had  we 
seen  so  daintily  unconventional  a  divertisse- 
ment as  we  discovered  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the 


122     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Tudor  roses  that  share  with  the  portcullis  in 
the  decorative  scheme.  Instead  of  the  conven- 
tionalized rose  center  that  is  repeated  in  all  the 
others,  this  rose  contains  a  woman's  face,  deli- 
cately carved.  Some  say  it  represents  the  art- 
ist's idea  of  the  Virgin;  but  the  artistic  idea 
of  the  Virgin  is  usually  very  human,  and  we 
liked  to  think  that  with  a  song  on  his  lips 
and  a  chisel  in  his  hand,  the  carver's  eyes 
saw  only  the  face  of  his  beloved  while  he  was 
working. 

We  rested,  steeping  our  souls  in  the  sensuous 
beauty  of  line  and  of  light  from  the  old  glass 
which  colored  the  atmosphere  as  though  it  had 
been  filtered  through  jewels. 

Back  to  St.  Benet's  we  strolled  and  found 
the  vicar,  divested  of  his  robes,  awaiting  us. 
The  church  probably  dates,  he  told  us,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  seventh  century.  Perhaps 
some  of  St.  Augustine's  followers  erected  it 
about  the  time  their  master  was  engaged  on 
that  at  Cratendune — the  predecessor  of  Ely 
Cathedral.  The  vicar  showed  us  a  piscina  with 
quatrefoliated  squint  which  he  had  exhumed 
from  the  mass  of  plaster  that  had  been  smeared 
over  the  walls  by  modern  "  restorers."  He 
tapped  the  east  wall,  which  rang  hollow  near 
the  altar;  and  doubtless  there  his  chisel  would 
discover  something  interesting.  A  chapter 


Cambridge  123 

would  be  all  too  little  for  the  interesting  details 
he  told  us  of  his  little  church  that  had  been 
standing  hundreds  of  years  ere  the  university 
germinated.  And  even  this  is  shrouded  in 
mystery.  Bede  tells  of  Sigebert,  King  of  East 
Anglia,  who,  having  seen  in  France  a  "  school 
for  learning,"  instituted  something  of  the  sort 
in  England.  The  rival  universities  each  claim 
to  be  the  older. 

'  We  must  admit,  I  think,"  said  the  vicar; 
"  that  an  ox-ford  may  be  older  than  a  Cam- 
bridge. By  the  bye,  you  Americans  know 
history  rather  well;  probably  you  recall  that 
the  Cam  was  anciently  called  the  Grenta  or 
Granta  and  that  Domesday  Book  refers  to  the 
university  as  '  Grentebridge.' ' 

*  The  river  must  be  as  small  as  its  present 
name,"  said  Sonia;  "  wre  have  not  yet  discov- 
ered it." 

*  You  have  not  seen  the  Backs?    Do  let  me 
show  them  to  you! " 

'  We  have  seen  a  good  many  fronts  and 
insides,"  said  Diana;  "are  the  backs  any 
nicer? " 

'Wait!"  commanded  the  vicar,  who  led 
the  way  through  St.  Catherine's  College  and 
Queen's,  where  he  paused  long  enough  to  let 
us  admire  the  large  sun  dial  on  the  chapel  wall, 
the  Erasmus  Court,  and  the  Tower  in  which 


124     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

that  gentle  maker  of  history  awaited  a  royal 
summons  that  never  came.  However  worthy 
the  mysterious  Backs  might  be,  we  must  needs 
loiter  through  the  Cloister  Court,  so  quaint 
and  picturesque  a  link  with  long  ago. 

Through  a  narrow  passage  we  came  sud- 
denly upon  a  simple  wooden  bridge  over  a  tiny 
river,  beyond  which  spread  the  glory  of  Eng- 
land's mighty  trees  and  emerald  turf.  The 
bridge  on  which  we  stood  was,  the  vicar  said, 
an  exact  replica  of  an  ancient  one — known  as 
the  Mathematical  Bridge — which  had  been  so 
perfectly  constructed  that  wooden  pins  held  it 
securely  together.  We  stepped  upon  the  path 
on  the  river's  farther  brink.  Our  vicar's  face 
beamed  at  our  delight. 

"  After  all,"  he  said;  "  what  can  be  compared 
to  nature?  What  would  our  quads  be  with- 
out their  window  boxes,  their  flower  borders, 
and  the  inevitable  ivy  you  Americans  like  so 
much?  And  tell  me,  do  you  not  like  all  of 
Cambridge  better  now  that  you  are  beginning 
to  be  acquainted  with  the  Backs? "  We  had 
been  strolling  along  the  shady  path.  The 
Backs  of  King's  Chapel  and  of  Clare  College 
were  mirrored  in  the  river.  Clare's  Bridge 
was  set  in  a  glory  of  green. 

The  vicar  returned  with  us  as  far  as  the 
King's  Parade,  and  in  response  to  a  request 


Cambridge  125 

recommended  our  lunching  at  a  little  res- 
taurant in  Trinity  Street. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Diana,  "  why  this  one — 
not  very  long — street  has  four  names?  Down 
by  the  museum  it  was  Trumpington  Street; 
then  it  became  the  King's  Parade;  now  it  is 
Trinity  Street,  and  beyond  here,  according  to 
our  map,  St.  John  claims  it  for  his !  "  The  boys 
and  their  many  guests  were  ahead  of  us,  and 
we  lost  much  valuable  time  in  waiting  to  be 
served,  though  doubtless  we  gained  thereby  a 
much-needed  rest. 

The  next  college  we  "  did  "  was  Trinity. 
The  King's  Gateway  is  more  eloquent  of  good 
King  Hal,  who  restored  it,  than  of  Edward 
IV,  to  whom  its  erection  is  due.  How  fortu- 
nate that  we  have  a  few  beautiful  deeds  of 
Henry's  to  help  our  forgiveness  of  his  undoing 
so  much  that  was  beautiful! 

Just  why  many  of  the  college  courts  are 
paved  with  horrible  little  round  stones  like  can- 
non balls  is  "  not  given  to  us  to  know."  Some- 
times narrow  flagging  leads  whither  one  would 
go ;  of tener  not.  Never  were  the  feet  of  saints 
more  effectually  tortured  by  pebbles  in  their 
shoes  than  were  those  of  these  latter-day  pil- 
grims, who  were  denied  the  saints'  privilege  of 
election.  Footsore  as  we  were  we  could  not 
but  pity  the  English  girls  in  sharp-toed  slip- 


126     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

pers  of  the  paper-sole  sort.  We  admired  their 
utter  serenity  of  countenance,  which  gave  no 
hint  of  torture. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  observed,"  said 
Diana,  "  that  they  are  not  trying  to  see  the 
whole  of  Cambridge  in  a  single  day;  and  that 
very  few  of  them  venture  on  this  awful  rubble." 

Trinity's  Great  Court  is  inclosed  by  the  bat- 
tlemented  buildings  of  this  largest  college  in 
the  university.  The  "  wrong  side "  of  the 
King's  Gateway  was  quite  as  interesting  as 
the  other.  We  sought  entrance  to  the  chapel, 
but  were  a  few  minutes  too  early  for  the  after- 
noon opening,  so  after  a  good  look  at  the  big 
fountain,  which  was  innocent  of  water,  and 
at  King  Edward's  Tower  beyond  which  was  a 
garden,  and  promising  ourselves  to  return 
later  to  the  chapel,  we  passed  through  an  oaken 
passage  on  one  side  of  which  was  the  "  but- 
tery." On  the  other  we  caught  a  glimpse  into 
the  great  oak-paneled  dining  hall.  We  longed 
to  see  the  library  with  its  precious  collection  of 
manuscripts,  but  dared  not  seek  permission. 
From  the  beautiful  Cloister  Court  we  passed 
into  yet  another,  from  which  a  gateway 
brought  us  suddenly  out  on  a  bridge  over  the 
Cam.  After  such  an  infinity  of  buildings  this 
was  so  refreshing  that  we  uttered  the  only  ex- 
clamation that  is  flexible  enough  to  express 


King's  Gateway  is  more  eloquent  of  King  Hal  than  of  Edward  IV. 


Cambridge  127 

what  we  felt:  "  Oh!  "  The  river  was  gay  with 
girls.  The  vicar  had  told  us  that  the  annual 
intercollegiate  rowing  races  would  occur  at 
five  this  afternoon.  This  accounted  for  the 
gala  atmosphere.  To  be  sure,  we  wanted  to 
go.  Could  we  afford  to  miss  anything  in  this 
land  of  delightful  surprises?  The  course  was 
some  distance  from  the  town,  and  there  would 
doubtless  be  brakes  in  plenty  to  carry  the  race- 
goers. We  sank  upon  a  bench  where  we  could 
watch  the  tennis  playing.  Diana  opened  a 
guide  book  and  listlessly  turned  its  pages. 

"  Do  you  care,"  she  inquired  of  Sonia,  who 
had  furtively  slipped  her  foot  from  its  dainty 
"  pump,"  and  wras  scanning  the  distance  fear- 
ful of  detection ;  "  do  you  care  whether  Cam- 
bridge was  burned  by  the  Danes  or  whether 
William  erected  a  castle  here  while  the  Saxon 
nobles  held  the  isle  of  Ely  against  his  advance  ? 
Does  your  present  or  future  happiness  depend 
upon  the  knowledge  that  Cromwell  took  pos- 
session of  the  Borough  of  Cambridge  for  Par- 
liament and  garrisoned  it  with  a  thousand 
men? " 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  replied  Sonia,  hastily  re- 
placing her  shoe  at  the  fancied  approach  of 
something  human;  "  that  those  things  occurred 
everywhere  in  England.  I  suppose  King  John 
granted  all  sorts  of  promises,  Indian  fashion, 


128     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

that  Richard  II  or  III — not  our  splendid 
Richard — deprived  everybody  of  everything 
they  justly  possessed,  and  that  Elizabeth  gra- 
ciously volunteered  to  pay  somebody  a  royal 
visit.  Would  it  not  be  dreadful  if  we  should 
become  indifferent  to  such  things !  My  brain  is 
clogged;  we  have  had  such  a  feast  to-day.  I 
can't  digest  anything  more." 

"  Here  is  something  we  should  have  seen," 
said  Diana,  with  reviving  interest;  "in  the 
market  place,  which  this  book  says  is  one  of  the 
finest  in  England — opposite  the  guildhall 
stands  the  conduit  erected  chiefly  by  a  bequest 
of  Thomas  Hobson,  the  '  immortal  carrier/  be- 
cause of  his  '  choice '  in  the  matter  of  livery- 
stable  accommodation. 

"  Just  fancy  Geoffrey  Chaucer  having  been 
a  student  here!  "  she  continued.  "  And  list  to 
these  names!  Cranmer,  Coleridge,  Milton, 
Ben  Jonson,  Pepys,  Spenser,  Ridley,  Pitt, 
Jeremy  Taylor,  William  Harvey,  Elizabeth's 
Essex,  Newton,  Bacon,  Dryden,  Byron,  and 
last — aye,  and  least — Oliver  Cromwell.  To 
Magdalene — must  we  say  Maudlin? — Pepys 
bequeathed  a  valuable  and  curious  library." 

"Yes,  Maudlin  it  must  be;  and  did  you 
notice  that  our  nice  vicar  pronounced  Caius, 
'Keys'?" 

Trinity's  magnificent  avenue  of  limes  gave 


Cambridge  129 

us  one  more  thrill  before  we  concluded  to  forego 
the  races;  and  having  crossed  St.  John's 
Bridge  of  Sighs  and  traversed  St.  John's  four 
rubble-paved  courts,  we  hailed  a  yellow  han- 
som which  stood  outside  the  Tudor  Gateway 
and  were  driven  rapidly  to  the  station  sans 
china  and  sans  basket. 

That  evening  Miss  Hebert  came  to  our 
lodgings  with  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Trotter, 
whose  husband  is  one  of  the  dignitaries  of  Pe- 
terhouse,  for  the  American  ladies  to  come  down 
to  Cambridge  for  the  Senior  Wrangler  and 
Wooden  Spoon  exercises  a  few  days  later. 

"  I  say,  it  is  a  pity  you  went  to  Cambridge 
before  you  had  this  invitation.  Mrs.  Trotter 
would  have  given  you  a  jolly  luncheon  in  the 
doctor's  rooms,  and  they  would  have  shown  you 
everything." 

"Not  in  one  day!"  Diana  exclaimed  with 
emphasis;  "but  perhaps  they  will  show  us  a 
few  of  the  things  we  did  not  see :  Milton's  and 
Spenser's  mulberry  trees,  for  instance;  some 
interiors  and  a  few  more  colleges.  We  have 
seen  only  nine  to-day." 

"  It  will  be  a  pleasure,"  said  the  undaunted 
Sonia,  "  to  meet  Mrs.  Trotter,  if  only  to  thank 
her  for  her  generosity  to  people  she  has  never 
seen." 

Arrayed  in  fine  feather,  therefore,  we  set 


130     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

forth  on  the  first  Tuesday  in  July  for  Cam- 
bridge. Mrs.  Trotter  met  us  at  the  station 
and  we  were  driven  in  her  carriage  to  the  Sen- 
ate House,  where  a  multitude  of  robed  and 
hooded  men  and  a  bevy  of  eager  young  women 
were  assembling.  We  remembered  the  day 
Sonia's  brother  was  graduated  from  Harvard ; 
and  the  brisk,  if  boisterous  American  way 
made  the  sober  British  method  of  graduation 
seem  somewhat  ponderous.  The  Senate  House 
is  not  unlike  a  Presbyterian  church.  Part  of 
the  gallery  was  reserved  for  guests,  but  most 
of  it  was  filled  with  undergraduates,  whose 
enthusiasm  was,  we  concluded,  either  tepid  or 
controlled.  There  were  a  few  rows  of  seats 
along  the  side  walls,  and  we  had  no  difficulty 
in  obtaining  places.  The  rear  end  of  the  hall 
was  apportioned  to  the  various  colleges,  whose 
positions  were  indicated  by  large  cards  bearing 
the  somewhat  startling  names :  Jesus,  Trinity, 
Christ,  etc.;  and  under  these  were  gathered 
black  -  robed,  fur  -  hooded,  mortar  -  boarded 
seniors. 

Two  men  entered  bearing  silver  maces;  an- 
other solemnly  bore  a  book  that  looked  like  a 
family  Bible — its  covers  chained  together. 

'  The  statutes,"  whispered  Mrs.  Trotter. 
Then  came  an  old  man  in  scarlet  robes  which 
were  faced  with  crushed  strawberry.  He  ap- 


Cambridge  131 

propriated  an  imposing  chair — center  front  of 
the  low  platform.  He  was  the  Vice  Chancel- 
lor. The  two  mortar-boarded  mace  bearers 
stood  on  the  Vice  Chancellor's  either  side  and 
concentrated  their  solemn  gaze  upon  the  rear 
of  the  hall.  The  silence  was  sacramental. 
There  were  several  Senior  Wranglers;  which 
discovery  confused  us  considerably,  because  we 
had,  in  discussing  the  probable  meaning  of  the 
term,  concluded  that  a  Wrangle  might  be  Eng- 
lish for  debate,  and  that  the  Senior  Wrangler, 
having  been  victorious  in  debate,  was  valedic- 
torian. Evidently  there  were  to  be  no  speeches, 
no  valedictory,  no  singing  of  glees.  The  sen- 
iorest  Wrangler  knelt  before  the  Vice  Chan- 
cellor, his  palms  together,  raised  in  saintly 
supplication.  The  hands  were  overlaid  by 
those  of  the  scarlet-and-crushed-strawberry 
one  who  murmured  something  inaudible.  One 
or  two  boys  in  the  gallery  feebly  cheered, 
and  the  blushing  candidate  escaped  by  a  side 
door. 

"  If  only  Billy  and  his  class  were  here  to 
give  them  a  good  Harvard  yell !  "  whispered 
Sonia. 

"Rah!  Rah!  Rah!— that  one,"  replied 
Diana,  pointing  to  the  sacred  name  of  one  col- 
lege, "  would  not  be  conducive  to  the  sort  of 
cheering  Billy  led." 


132     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  exercises  continued  for  several  hours, 
the  graduates  being  conducted  to  the  red  one 
in  groups  of  four,  each  member  of  which 
grasped  a  professorial  finger  like  a  frightened 
child  reluctantly  going  to  the  dentist.  After- 
wards Mrs.  Trotter  went  with  us  to  see  the 
Round  Church — St.  Sepulchre — one  of  the 
four  round  churches  extant  in  England  that 
the  Normans  had  built  in  imitation  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem.  This  one  is  singu- 
larly like  another  we  had  seen — the  beautiful 
Temple  Church  in  London. 

Then  we  went  to  Jesus  College,  whose  most 
interesting  feature  to  us  was  the  chapel.  The 
one-time  Benedictine  nunnery  of  St.  Rhade- 
gund  forms  a  part  of  it  and  the  Nuns'  Gallery 
remains  almost  unchanged.  Here  carved  on 
an  oaken  stall  are  the  armorial  cocks  of  Bishop 
Alcock,  whose  beautiful  little  chapel  is  one  of 
Ely's  most  delectable  features.  He  was 
founder  of  this  college.  In  a  cloistered  court 
have  recently  been  revealed  early  architectural 
beauties  which  had  been  plastered  out  of  sight 
by  some  zealous  restorer. 

She  also  showed  us  Caius,  with  its  Gates  of 
Honor,  of  Humility,  and  of  Virtue,  which  de- 
lighted us  even  more  than  its  flower-decked 
courts.  The  other  colleges  she  named  to  us  as 
we  passed;  but  now  we  must  hurry  lest  we  be 


Cambridge  183 

late  for  the  Wooden  Spoon  ceremony.  Dr. 
Trotter  awaited  us  in  his  rooms  at  Peterhouse, 
his  genial  cordiality  quite  overcoming  our  awe 
of  his  lofty  position.  The  luncheon  was 
worthy  of  Lucullus;  but  we  might  not  linger 
to  enjoy  it  as  it  deserved.  The  doctor,  clad  in 
a  scarlet  coat  with  pink  facings,  placed  on  his 
auburn  head  a  velvet  hat  much  like  those  of  the 
"  buffetiers  "  in  the  Tower  of  London.  Sonia 
strode  proudly  beside  him  while  Diana  followed 
with  Mrs.  Trotter  and  mentally  decided  that  if 
there  were  harmony  in  the  color  scheme  of  col- 
legiate garments  it  was  of  the  sort  that  musi- 
cians call  "  close." 

We  both  endeavored  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
Senior  Wrangler.  Our  companions  labored 
kindly,  patiently,  and  politely ;  but  our  impres- 
sions are  still  somewhat  hazy.  Triposes  are 
lists  of  honor  students  in  order  of  distinction. 
In  the  mathematical  tripos  the  first  man  is 
Senior  Wrangler.  Wherefore  wrangler?  As 
Billy  would  say:  "  Search  me!  " 

'  The  morning  exercises  are  rather  dull," 
said  Mrs.  Trotter,  who  had  doubtless  detected 
condemnation  in  our  faint  praise ;  "  but  the 
Wooden  Spoon  is  right  jolly,  you  know." 

Let  the  eloquence  of  a  London  newspaper 
article  on  the  following  morning  describe  the 
afternoon's  ceremony: 


134     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 
CAMBRIDGE   UNIVERSITY. 

CONFEEMENT    OF    DEGREES. 

Over  six  hundred  degrees  were  conferred  yesterday 
at  the  last  congregation  of  the  Cambridge  academical 
year.  Among  the  recipients  was  Mr.  I ,  of  Pem- 
broke, one  of  the  Senior  Wranglers,  who,  by  right 
of  his  position  in  the  mathematical  tripos,  took  pre- 
cedence of  all  his  confreres.  At  the  tail  of  the  long 

list   was   Mr.   R.   P ,   of   Fitzwilliam   Hall,   the 

"  wooden  spoonist."  Emblazoned  with  university 
and  college  arms,  and  decorated  with  the  colors  of 
the  hall,  the  spoon  was  suspended  between  the  gal- 
leries upon  stout  cords,  and  the  quaint  mode  of  pres- 
entation occasioned  much  mirth.  After  Mr.  P — 
had  been  admitted  to  his  degree,  the  spoon  was  low- 
ered, but  just  as  he  was  about  to  clutch  it,  it  was 
jerked  out  of  his  reach.  This  manoeuvre  was  re- 
peated time  after  time,  varied  by  other  antics  prac- 
tised by  undergraduates  on  degree  day.  At  last  Mr. 

P. grew  tired  of  the  sport,  and  strode  away 

toward  the  exit.  "  Come  back,  sir,  come  back,  "  his 
tormentors  roared.  With  some  hesitation,  the 
wooden  spoonist  retraced  his  steps,  and  was  merci- 
fully allowed  to  capture  his  legitimate  spoil.  Bear- 
ing the  spoon  on  his  shoulder,  he  made  his  way  out 
of  the  Senate  House,  to  the  accompaniment  of  loud 
cheering. 

Our  splendid  doctor  was  on  the  platform; 
but  his  presence  could  not  deter  the  combined 


Cambridge  135 

influences  of  champagne  at  luncheon,  a  tem- 
perature in  the  hall  of  eighty-odd  degrees  that 
were  not  academic,  together  with  the  "  sport- 
ive manoeuvres,"  from  producing  in  us  a  Hen- 
ley-like sleepiness,  more  difficult  to  combat  be- 
cause of  the  greater  need.  There  came  an  end. 
Dr.  Trotter  was  anxious  for  us  to  see  some 
of  the  college  interiors.  Mr.  Ruskin,  he  told 
us,  considered  the  Second  Court  of  St.  John's 
—through  which  we  were  passing  and  had  ex- 
claimed at  the  mauve  tone  age  had  given  to 
the  brick  buildings — the  most  perfect  archi- 
tecturally of  all  the  many  beautiful  ones  in  the 
university.  The  great  dining  hall  at  St.  John's 
is  one  of  the  finest  we  had  seen  since  the  Mid- 
dle Temple.  Here  were  Hepplewhite  chairs 
enough  to  make  a  fortune  for  a  Piccadilly 
dealer  in  antiques.  Dr.  Trotter  pointed  out 
the  portraits  of  Wordsworth  and  other  promi- 
nent St.  Johnsmen.  The  long  and  narrow 
combination  room  has  a  low  Tudor  ceiling. 
Here  were  more  interesting  portraits;  but  our 
attention  was  chiefly  given  to  the  furniture. 
Diana  discovered  several  Edelinck  and  Clouet 
engravings  on  the  walls.  The  library  is  one  of 
the  many  treasure  troves  which  are  so  aston- 
ishingly plentiful  in  England. 

Train  time  was  rapidly  approaching,  so  we 
could  see  no  more  of  the  beauties  of  Cambridge. 


136     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

As  we  were  about  to  enter  a  china  shop  on  St. 
John's  Street,  Sonia  exclaimed  in  some  excite- 
ment: 

"Here  comes  our  vicar!"  Not  knowing 
that  we  possessed  a  vicar,  the  Trotters  turned 
and  beheld  the  vicar  of  St.  Benet's,  who 
paused,  greeted  us  kindly,  and  a  formal  ex- 
change was  made  of  that  necessary  currency 
— names. 

Promising  to  visit  us  soon  in  London  the 
Trotters  waved  good-by  as  we  leaned  from  the 
window  in  our  compartment  of  the  train  for 
London. 


CHAPTER   IX 

Stoke  Poges,  Burnham  Beeches,  Eton  and 
Windsor 


HE  poet  Gray:  this  is  Stoke  Poges.  Be- 
A  fore  its  Gray  day  there  was  at  Stoke 
Poges  a  pretty  village  church  around  which 
spread  a  shady  graveyard.  The  church  and 
graveyard  remain,  and  doubtless  there  are  pret- 
tier ones  in  England;  but  from  the  moment 
the  traveler  steps  out  of  his  landaulet  before 
the  tiny  ivy-smothered  lodge,  where  he  refuses 
to  buy  photographs  of  what  he  has  not  seen, 
but  burns  to  see,  his  thoughts  are  of  the  poet 
Gray.  Upon  this  single  string,  moreover,  do 
sexton  and  pew  opener  harp. 

From  Gray  the  lych-gate,  which  he  never 
saw,  had  excluded  us.  Immediately  we  had 
passed  through  it  we  were  permeated  with  that 
peace  in  which  the  poet's  spirit  was  steeped  on 
the  psychological  evening  which  procreated  the 


137 


138     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

poem  best  known  to  English-speaking  people. 
Though  we  stood  in  the  hot  summer  sun  and 
looked  down  the  flower-bordered  walk  between 
the  graves  leading  to  the  little  church — though 
curfew,  lowing  herd,  and  darkness  were  lack- 
ing, Sonia  said : 

"  I  wonder  why  the  world  had  to  wait  for 
the  son  of  a  London  money  scrivener  to  ex- 
press the  sensations  that  are  shared  by  us  all? 
Hundreds,  thousands  have  felt  the  same  poetic 
efflatus  as  they  stood  here;  and  how  few  pos- 
sess the  ability  to  crystallize  it  in  language! " 

A  grave-digger's  spade  gave  to  the  lyric 
silence  a  dramatic  intensity.  Some  instinct 
led  us  to  the  poet's  simple  tomb,  which  bears 
not  his  name,  though  a  tablet  on  the  church 
wall  facing  it  states  that  he  lies  "  in  the  same 
tomb  upon  which  he  has  so  feelingly  inscribed 
his  grief  at  the  loss  of  a  beloved  parent." 

A  good  woman  must  have  been  "  Dorothy 
Gray,  widow,  the  careful,  tender  mother  of 
many  children,  one  of  whom  alone  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  survive  her." 

St.  Giles  is  the  patron  saint  of  this  parish, 
though  his  name  is  seldom  mentioned  in  con- 
nection with  it.  Although  the  history  of  Stoke 
Poges  began  in  Saxon  times,  a  church  was 
probably  not  built  until  after  the  Conquest. 

"  Domesday  Book  "  records  the  demesne  of 


Stoke  Poges  139 

William  Stoches,  which  is  assessed  at  ten  hydes 
—about  eight  hundred  acres — and  is  worth  in 
all  five  pounds. 

"Fancy,"  said  Sonia;  "what  the  present 
*  worth  '  of  beautiful  Stoke  Park  must  be!  " 

"Incidentally,"  mused  Diana;  "what  will 
it  be  a  thousand  years  from  now?  " 

"  The  Earl  of  Huntingdon — that  sounds 
like  Robin  Hood.  I  hope  the  Huntingdons 
who  owned  Stoke  Park  were  Robin's  own 
folk,"  she  continued,  as  certain  historical  facts 
became  known  to  us. 

When  royalty  pays  a  visit,  woe  to  him  who 
would  economize!  Elizabeth  was  a  sovereign 
whose  restless  spirit  drove  her  forth  on  many 
a  sojourn  among  her  landowners;  and  Stoke 
Park's  hospitality  was  lavished  upon  its  sump- 
tuous queen  when  the  mighty  chief  justice,  Sir 
Edward  Coke,  threw  open  its  portals  for  her 
entertainment.  Later,  however,  she  had  no 
compunction  about  seizing  the  estate  for  a 
debt,  real  or  fancied. 

Although  the  simple  Quaker,  William  Penn, 
set  forth  in  quest  of  a  land  that  would  not  per- 
secute the  Society  of  Friends,  and  became  by 
royal  grant  owner  and  governor  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, he  did  not  become  an  American.  His 
son  Thomas  bought  this  fair  demesne  of  Stoke 
Park,  in  England,  which  was  occupied  by  his 


140     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

descendants  for  three  generations.  The  Eliza- 
bethan manor  of  the  Huntingdons  was  almost 
demolished  in  1790;  and  John  Penn  caused  the 
present  Italian-style  mansion  to  be  erected. 
All  we  saw  of  it  was  a  photograph,  whose 
charm  was  enhanced  by  clustering  roses  and  a 
large  deodar,  and  the  pretty  entrance  gate  on 
the  road  from  Slough. 

In  the  north  wall  of  the  chancel  in  St.  Giles's 
Church  are  two  early  English  windows  and  a 
small  Norman  one.  These,  together  with  a  fif- 
teenth-century doorway,  some  early  "restorer" 
had  choked  with  plaster  and  stone,  which  have 
happily  been  removed.  To  Sir  John  de  Mo- 
lyns — marshal  of  the  king's  falcons,  supervisor 
of  the  queen's  castles,  and  afterwards  a  peer 
of  the  realm — is  due  all  honor  for  having  erected 
early  in  the  fourteenth  century  the  present 
church.  We  had  entered  by  the  little  porch, 
whose  two  sturdy  oaken  timbers  have  with- 
stood five  hundred  years  of  change  and  chance. 
A  charming  feature  of  the  church  is  the  pri- 
vate entrance  for  worshipers  from  the  Great 
House.  This  so-called  cloister  leads  from  a 
low  vestibule  windowed  with  fragments  of 
venerable  glass  that  were  brought  from  the 
Manor  House  at  the  time  of  its  reconstruction. 

Far  up  in  Derbyshire  we  saw,  later  in  the 
summer,  Dorothy  Vernon's  beautiful  home 


Stoke  Pages  141 

and  her  tomb  with  its  ugly  wooden  figures  in 
stiff  devotional  attitude.  And  here  at  Stoke 
Poges  behold  painted  upon  the  glass  the  arms 
of  her  son  Roger,  of  John  Fortescue,  also, 
whose  brother  married  Dorothy's  daughter! 
What  did  they  here  ?  There  was  none  to  tell  us. 

The  quaint  "  bicycle  window  "  interleaded 
among  these  bits  of  old  glass  was  pointed  out 
to  us  with  much  pride  of  possession. 

There  are  some  interesting  tombs  and  brasses 
in  the  church.  From  the  Norman-French  in- 
scription on  the  slab  of  William  de  Wittemerse 
we  gathered  that  he  desired  our  prayers  for  his 
pardon.  We  liked  the  old  custom  of  calling  a 
woman  Dame.  "  Dame  Margaret "  has  a 
pleasing  sound. 

'What  a  beautiful  name — Alianore!"  ex- 
claimed Diana.  :<  Why  has  no  poet  sung  of 
her?  Lenore  and  Eleanore  are  as  nothing  to 
the  music  of  this  name." 

Here  the  Penn  is  almost  as  mighty  as  the 
poet;  but  what  is  a  colonist  as  compared  to 
him  who  has  struck  a  deep  chord  of  sympathy 
in  the  human  heart? 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mould'ring  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 


142     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn'd  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool  sequester'd  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenour  of  their  way. 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unletter'd  Muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

We  scarcely  glanced  at  the  big  monument  to 
the  poet  in  Stoke  Park  just  outside  the  church- 
yard, to  which  our  awakened  driver  directed 
attention.  What  avails  a  stone  monument  to 
him  whose  memory  can  never  fade? 

Past  Stoke  Common  and  a  raw  new  village 
or  so  we  proceeded.  The  Lord  Mayor's  Drive 
brought  us  to  those  hoary  Burnham  Beeches, 
gnarled  and  knotted  as  any  rheumatic  gaffer, 
the  oldest  beeches  in  old  England,  and,  hap- 
pily, in  the  possession  of  the  Corporation  of 
London,  free  to  all  who  would  enjoy  them. 

We  had  always  supposed  that  forest  trees 
grew  tall  and  slender  like  our  native  pines  and 
hemlocks ;  but  the  sturdy  lower  branches  of  the 
beeches  were  within  a  few  feet  of  the  ground. 
We  learned  afterwards  that  they  had  been 
pollarded.  The  tremendous  girth  of  the  trunks 
becomes  more  and  more  impressive  as  the 
driveway  advances  through  this  surprisingly 


Stoke  Poges  143 

extensive  remnant  of  such  a  forest  as  Prosper 
le  Gai  traversed  with  his  Isoult.  Sherwood 
Forest  is  a  disappointment.  Its  few  old  trees 
are  tottering  on  the  verge  of  extinction,  and 
imagination  falters  before  the  decrepit  surviv- 
ors of  the  mighty  oaks  that  sheltered  the  merry 
men  of  gay  Robin's  band.  The  Burnham 
Beeches,  on  the  contrary,  look  as  though  they 
might  endure  for  another  thousand  years. 
One,  called  the  Druid,  is  known  to  be  more  than 
two  thousand  years  old. 

"  Oh,  for  a  dryad  to  tell  us  of  the  scenes  these 
trees  have  beheld!"  sighed  Sonia.  Eerie  in- 
deed are  the  gnarled,  mossy  roots  writhing  like 
great  green  serpents  among  the  clustering 
fronds  of  bracken.  A  young  forest  fills  the 
spaces  between  the  giants  and  the  shy  eyes  of 
deer  alone  are  needed  to  complete  the  sylvan 
spell.  Little  opportunity  was  afforded  us  for 
sentiment.  We  were,  all  too  soon,  to  pass 
through  loud-voiced  throngs  of  trippers  who 
rode  donkeys  and  patronized  garish  refresh- 
ment booths  or  cheap  photographers.  Our 
driver  was  bidden  to  haste  lest  we  lose  the  fine 
flavor  of  the  forest  in  this  acrid  aftermath. 
We  had,  however,  in  our  flight  a  glimpse  of 
some  magnificent  oaks  at  the  edge  of  the  green- 
wood. 

In  Eton  "  croky  "  and  cricket  were  in  full 


144 

summer  sway.  Here  and  there  among  the 
beflanneled  cricketers  strolled  Kate  Greena- 
ways  boys  in  the  absurd  raiment  which  a 
conservative  custom  requires.  We  had  not 
planned  to  see  the  college  buildings  to-day, 
save  what  could  be  glimpsed  en  passant.  Our 
driver  insisted  that  we  see  the  chapel,  so,  sup- 
posing him  desirous  of  sampling  the  beer  in  a 
neighboring  tavern,  we  consented — and  were 
rewarded.  The  chapel  is  almost  as  fine  as 
King's  in  Cambridge.  Millais's  Sir  Galahad 
greeted  us  like  an  unexpected  friend  whom 
we  had  learned  to  know  and  love  in  his  photo- 
graphs. Some  work  of  our  beloved  Burne- 
Jones  adorns  the  reredos.  The  old  choir 
stalls  and  richly  glazed  windows  we  needs 
must  linger  to  admire;  also  the  rows  of  brass 
tablets  on  the  walls  of  the  antechapel,  bearing 
— in  colors — the  arms  of  many  notable  families 
that  have  been  represented  at  Eton. 

The  inner  quadrangle  of  the  college  is  sug- 
gestive in  color  and  style  of  Hampton  Court 
and  of  St.  John's  at  Cambridge. 

And  now  at  last  were  we  at  Windsor,  of 
which  but  a  hint  had  been  accorded  us  on  our 
first  Thames  day.  We  had  expected  much. 
Who  dares  to  affirm  that  anticipation  exceeds 
realization?  We  have  usually  found  the  oppo- 
site to  hold  true.  Certainly  no  disappoint- 


Stoke  Pages  145 

ment  awaited  in  this  monster  palace  of  a  hun- 
dred kings. 

An  afternoon's  impression  of  Windsor  Cas- 
tle is  like  a  conducted  continental  tour — 
merely  a  foretaste  of  later  and  more  leisurely 
delights.  Yet  it  may  be  fairly  comprehen- 
sive. 

We  had  read  that  the  site  of  town  and  cas- 
tle had  been  granted  by  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor to  the  Abbey  of  St.  Peter,  Westmin- 
ster, which  he  had  established;  that  William 
the  Grabber,  of  Normandy,  had  appropriated 
it  and  constructed  a  fortress,  devoting  the 
adjacent  park  to  hunting.  In  Windsor  Park 
are  still  some  ancient  oaks,  one  of  which — the 
King's  Oak — is  said  to  have  been  a  favorite 
resting  place  of  the  Conqueror.  To  William's 
fort  Henry  I  added  a  chapel,  in  which  he  was 
married  to  Adelais  of  Lorraine. 

King  John,  when  forced  toward  Runny- 
mede  by  the  determined  barons,  took  refuge 
here  on  his  way.  Here  Edward  III,  Diana's 
favorite  king,  was  born;  and  here  the  clever 
William  of  Wykeham's  architectural  skill  was 
lavished,  his  weekly  stipend  amounting  to 
seven  shillings  and  that  of  his  clerk  three.  To 
the  fourth  Edward  the  Chapel  of  St.  George, 
patron  of  the  Knights  of  the  Garter,  is  chiefly 
due.  And  so  proceed  the  records  royal.  The 


146     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

doomed  first  Charles  many  times  held  court  in 
Windsor  Castle,  which  later  was  his  prison. 
Subsequent  sovereigns  perpetuated  their  in- 
dividual bad  taste  in  divers  alterations  and 
additions.  Others,  to  their  credit,  interested 
themselves  in  enlarging  the  park  and  planting 
avenues  of  now  splendid  trees. 

When  we  alighted  at  the  castle  the  royal 
standard  was  not  flying,  by  which  we  knew 
that  the  king  was  not  in  residence.  Through 
Henry  VIII's  gateway,  as  ponderous  and 
pompous  as  himself,  we  entered  the  lower 
ward.  Grim  gray  walls  surrounded  us  and 
stretched  on  indefinitely,  so  it  seemed. 

The  Horseshoe  Cloisters  of  Edward  IV 
have  been  so  well  restored  by  Sir  Gilbert  Scott 
that  the  whole  charm  of  their  oaken  antiquity 
is  retained.  But  to  Sir  Jeffry  Wyatt  is  due 
this  imposing  Windsor  of  to-day. 

We  walked  about  in  that  oversweet  confec- 
tion, St.  George's  Chapel,  whose  pendant 
bright-hued  banners  do  a  tale  of  knighthood 
unfold.  Antwerp's  artist-blacksmith,  Quen- 
tin  Matsys,  is  believed  to  have  made  the  monu- 
mental gates  for  the  tomb  of  Edward  IV, 
whose  coat  of  mail  and  pearl-embroidered 
surcoat  of  crimson  velvet  were  hung  upon 
them  after  his  interment,  but  no  longer  exist. 
We  saw  here  one  of  the  few  chained  Bibles 


Stoke  Poges  147 

which  England  contains.  The  gravestone  of 
Charles  Brandon  reminded  us  of  his  pretty 
romance  with  the  royal  Mary,  sister  of  Henry 
VIII.  His  armor  we  had  seen  in  the  Tower 
of  London.  Here  we  saw  a  statue  to  Leo- 
pold I  of  Belgium,  who  almost  was  Prince 
Consort  of  England,  and  whose  parsimony  is 
still  talked  of  in  Esher.  The  knights'  choir 
stalls,  bearing  knightly  helmets  of  carved  oak, 
are  Jiors  de  concours.  Beneath  the  pavement 
of  the  choir  lies  all  that's  mortal  of  merry  King 
Hal,  whose  fame  shall  not  perish  until  the  last 
man  dies.  Jane  Seymour,  last  of  the  famous 
sextette,  lies  beside  him. 

Caesar's  Tower — now  called  Curfew  Tower 
—is  said  to  be  entered  from  the  cloisters;  but 
we  met  a  locked  door,  and  were  compelled  to 
imagine  the  loftybelfry — where  Henry  VIII 
watched  the  execution  of  a  butcher  who  was 
disloyal — and  the  tower's  crypt-like  under 
chamber,  a  grewsome  dungeon  in  which  many 
cries  of  human  misery  have  perished  unheard. 
From  this  tower  a  subterranean  passage  once 
led  to  Burnham  Abbey,  nearly  three  miles 
away. 

"  I  suppose  we  came  on  the  wrong  day," 
complained  Diana.  '  There  seems  to  be  no 
day  when  all  of  any  place  can  be  seen.  Such 
and  such  parts  are  open  on  such  and  such 


148     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

days;  the  rest  are  open  only  Sundays  or  some 
other  than  that  on  which  we  come." 

"  Why  lament  the  loss  of  the  tower  when 
we  thereby  gain  more  time  for  exploring 
other  parts  of  the  castle? "  philosophized 
Sonia. 

When  we  came  to  the  Hundred  Steps  we 
were  tempted  to  go  down  to  the  postern  gate, 
which  we  had  seen  on  the  day  we  came 
down  the  river;  but  conservation  of  energy 
and  economy  of  time  seemed  the  wiser  deci- 
sion. So  we  loitered  a  while  on  the  north  ter- 
race, to  which  we  had  fled  after  a  peep  into 
the  Albert  Chapel.  Would  that  Wolsey's 
Chapel  had  been  spared  by  the  mob  that  de- 
faced it!  Having  seen  the  Albert  Memorial 
in  Kensington  Gardens,  we  could  not  expect 
to  find  the  epitome  of  good  taste  in  any  me- 
morial to  that  estimable  consort;  but  after  a 
glance  in  the  Albert  Chapel  and  a  pause  to 
question  the  veracity  of  our  vision  we  turned 
quickly  away — one  groaning ;  the  other  laugh- 
ing. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Sonia,  when  we  had  at 
last  reluctantly  passed  from  the  superb  land- 
scape the  north  terrace  commands  of  the 
slopes,  the  tree  tops  and  avenues  in  the  spa- 
cious home  park,  the  lucent  line  of  the 
Thames,  and  the  distant  lands  beyond  Eton, 


Stoke  Poges  149 

Harrow-on-the-Hill,  and  Stoke  Park;  "  I  sup- 
pose it  is  our  duty  to  see  the  state  apartments. 
I  hope  this  is  the  day  they  are  not  open.  It 
would  be  much  nicer  to  wander  in  the  green- 
wood and  find  Herne's  oak  where  the  hunt- 
er's antlered  ghost  '  doth  all  the  winter  time 
at  still  midnight  walk  round  about.'  I  like 
the  old  legend  that  affirms :  '  as  long  as  Wind- 
sore  Forest  endures,  Herne  the  hunter  will 
haunt  it.'  " 

'  The  state  apartments  are  open,"  sighed 
Sonia.  '  There  comes  a  herd  of  gawpers  out. 
I  dislike  to  enter  any  residence  uninvited, 
and  I  am  not  interested  in  royal  upholstery. 
'  Dry  rubbish  shot  here,'  "  she  quoted  from  an 
imaginary  sign  over  the  entrance.  We  tried 
to  hurry  through  the  great  museum-like  halls 
and  corridors;  but  our  cicerone,  who  had 
learned  his  lesson  to  some  purpose  and  length, 
would  not  permit  a  check  to  his  informatory 
outflow. 

'  The  family  is  in  Switzerland  and  the  fur- 
niture in  Holland  "  might  have  been  said  with 
truth,  certainly  of  the  furniture. 

'  This  chire  is  ownly  used  upon  stite  okki- 
sions,"  bawled  the  guide,  tenderly  lifting  the 
summer  dust  cover  of  a  massive  armchair  with 
intent  to  impress  us  with  its  grandeur.  There 
were  acres  of  furniture-strewn  floors,  miles  of 


150     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

frescoes,  portraits,  and  tapestry.  We  tried  a 
center  rush  through  the  Rubens  Room  and 
succeeded;  but  our  little  guide  was  much  per- 
turbed by  our  irreverence.  He  had  not  seen 
the  continental  galleries,  and  therefore  could 
not  comprehend.  Even  Guido  and  the  sweet 
Carlo  we  could  not  take  seriously;  but  Da 
Forli's  splendid  portrait  of  Urbino  arrested 
our  attention,  as  did  the  Rembrandts  in  the 
picture  gallery.  Royal  art  collections  are 
like  neglected  gardens — weedy.  Amid  a  mass 
of  doubtful  Titians,  unworthy  Claudes,  and 
Holbeins,  interest  in  the  greater  works  of  great 
painters  flags.  The  object  has  evidently  been 
to  cover  wall  space  rather  than  to  display  a 
really  choice  aggregation  of  the  best  canvases 
of  the  best  painters.  The  Van  Dycks,  how- 
ever, are  beyond  reproach.  Here  we  stood 
among  royal  personages — seen  through  the 
personality  of  a  great  artist — whose  intensely 
vivid  humanness  made  our  hearts  throb  in 
sympathy  with  their  woes  and  for  their  weak- 
ness. 

The  guard  chamber  was  grewsome  with 
trophies  of  sacrifice  to  insatiable  Mars.  There 
was  a  superb  silver  shield  inlaid  with  gold,  the 
work  of  Cellini,  the  wonderful,  the  atrocious. 
Of  all  the  trophies  at  Windsor  Castle  from 
England's  world-wide  wars,  the  black  flag  of 


Stoke  Poges  151 

the  Khalifa  that  had  been  sent  to  Queen 
Victoria  by  Kitchener  after  the  battle  of  Om- 
durman  thrilled  us  most  with  its  silent  tid- 
ings. 

There  was  also  the  great  hall  of  St.  George 
with  its  elaborate  Gothic  roof  studded  with 
shields  of  Knights  of  the  Garter  and  its  price- 
less portraits  of  Sovereigns  of  the  Order,  who 
sat  to  such  men  as  Gainsborough,  Lely,  Van 
Dyck,  and  Kneller.  The  heavy  oak  panel- 
ing makes  an  impressive  background  for  the 
portraits.  Here  was  another  "  stite  chire," 
very  much  like  the  coronation  chair  at  West- 
minster Abbey.  The  great  chimney  of 
"  dove "  marble  speaks  of  Yule  logs  and 
knights  holding  merry  wassail.  The  recep- 
tion room  has  at  one  end  a  great  Gothic  win- 
dow that  looks  out  on  the  fair  Surrey  wealds. 
We  were  weary  of  chairs  and  chandeliers,  of 
gilt  and  gaud ;  but  we  had  yet  to  see  the  throne 
room,  where  the  garterizing  ceremonials  occur 
and  the  Garter  blue  is  omni-evident.  We  were 
weary  of  the  names  of  Grinling  Gibbons  and 
Thomas  Lawrence,  dearly  though  we  loved 
their  work;  for  one  can  have  too  much  cake, 
howsoever  great  be  the  appetite.  The  throne 
in  the  throne  room,  our  guide  said,  had 
been  formerly  the  state  chair  of  the  King  of 
Candy. 


152     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  I've  heard  of  copper  kings  and  the  King 
of  Spades,  but  the  King  of  Barley  Sugar  is 
new  to  me!  "  whispered  Diana. 

The  banqueting  hall,  resplendent  in  Eng- 
lish oak,  crimson  plush,  and  portraits  gay  and 
grim,  was  inescapable ;  and  really,  as  banquet- 
ing halls  go,  this  Waterloo  chamber  is  as 
splendid  and  as  stately  as  poor  comfortless 
royalty  could  require.  Fortunately,  visitors 
are  not  permitted  to  see  the  private  apartments 
of  their  majesties,  so  we  tripped  happily 
through  the  grand  vestibule  and  down  the 
ditto  staircase,  emerging  finally  in  the  upper 
ward.  Now  were  we  free  to  investigate  the 
Round  Tower,  the  strong  keep  of  this  strong- 
hold, of  all  Windsor's  towers  the  most  "  per- 
spicuous "  from  the  country  round  about.  To 
us  it  was  the  most  triumphant  feature  of  the 
whole  castle.  This  one-time  prison-house  for 
superfluous  royalties  was  surrounded  on  three 
sides  by  a  moat  in  its  early  days.  Now,  how- 
ever, this  space  is  occupied  by  one  of  the  most 
idyllic  gardens  conceivable.  Of  all  the  dis- 
tinguished prisoners  who  have  been  confined 
in  this  tower — which  has  been  called  by  some 
the  Devil's  and  by  others  the  Maidens'  Tower 
— none  excites  as  much  interest  as  that  fair  boy, 
James  Stewart,  of  Scotland.  The  lad's  fa- 
ther was  King  of  Scotland,  but  had  become 


To  n*  flic  Round   Toircr  irtix  the  most  triumphant  feature 
of  the  ivhole  castle. 


Stoke  Poges  153 

hopelessly  insane.  The  oldest  son,  who  was 
the  natural  heir  to  the  throne,  was  as  dissolute 
as  a  prince  can  be.  The  two  princes  had  a 
cousin — the  Earl  of  Fife — and  the  Duke  of 
Albany  was  their  uncle.  These  relatives  were 
human  wolves,  seeking  what  they  might  de- 
vour. Albany  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  re- 
gency, and  straightway  he  caused  Rothsay, 
the  crown  prince,  to  be  imprisoned,  and  his 
jailers  were  commanded  to  slowly  starve  him 
to  death.  When  this  was  accomplished  even  the 
king's  weakened  mind  resented  it  so  much  as 
to  threaten  Albany's  position ;  but  to  conciliate 
the  sovereign  the  duke  made  a  great  show  of 
punishing — by  death — a  handful  of  his  own 
enemies  who  were  formally  accused  of  murder- 
ing the  young  prince.  Now,  only  James,  an 
eight-year-old  boy,  stood  between  Albany  and 
the  throne  he  coveted.  He  was  sent  to  a 
bishop,  who  packed  him  off  to  France  with  two 
letters,  one  addressed  to  the  French  king  and 
one  to  the  English,  lest  accident  befall  the 
little  traveler.  The  accident  occurred;  on  the 
channel  the  ship  which  bore  him  was  seized  by 
an  English  cruiser,  and  the  little  prince  was 
borne  to  King  Henry  IV,  who,  not  being  on 
the  friendliest  terms  with  Scotland,  retained 
him  as  a  hostage.  He  was  sent  to  Notting- 
ham to  be  educated,  and  after  the  accession 


154     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

of  Henry  V,  James,  then  seventeen  years  of 
age,  was  brought  to  Windsor.  At  this  time 
he  really  had  been  made  King  of  Scotland  by 
acclamation — his  father  having  died — but  Al- 
bany did  not  want  him  to  be  released,  nor  was 
Henry  willing  to  do  so.  Perhaps  the  boy  was 
not  unwilling  to  remain  in  England.  He  was 
by  nature  a  student  and  a  dreamer,  although 
he  sometimes  accompanied  the  royal  hunting 
parties  in  Windsor  Forest,  and  could  "  run  a 
spear  or  push  a  buckler  "  as  well  as  any.  At 
length,  for  state  reasons — poor  Henry's 
"  guest "  had  become  an  embarrassment- 
James  was  confined  in  more  or  less  comforta- 
ble apartments  in  the  Tower.  He  philosoph- 
ically accepted  matters  as  they  were  and  lux- 
uriated in  writing  poems,  many  of  which  were 
inspired  by  the  noble  views  his  windows  com- 
manded. Where  the  moat  had  been  was  now 
the  Maid  of  Honor's  Garden,  and  there  the 
French  queen's  attendants  strolled  in  the  cool 
of  the  day. 

Now  was  there  made,  fast  by  the  tower's  wall 
A  garden  fair;  and  in  the  corneris  set 

An  arbour  green,  with  wandis  long  and  small 
Railit  about,  and  so  with  treis  set, 
Was  all  the  place,  and  hawthorn  hedges  knet 

That  lyf  was  none,  walking  there  forbye, 

That  might  within  scarce  any  wight  espy. 


Stoke  Poges  155 

One  Tom  Payne,  who  had  been  a  priest,  a 
prisoner,  and  a  jail  breaker,  attempted  to  res- 
cue James,  but  was  prevented  and  captured; 
and  a  stricter  guard  was  placed  on  the  tower. 
The  royal  prisoner  one  evening  beheld  a  new 
figure  among  the  maidens  who  strolled  in  the 
garden.  She  was  alone.  A  pearl  net  inclosed 
the  masses  of  her  bright  gold  hair;  a  little  dog 
frolicked  beside  her.  She  was  intent  upon  a 
book  held  open  before  her  and  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  interest  she  aroused  in  the  lonely 
prisoner's  heart.  Then  she  seated  herself  in 
a  bower  of  roses  and  sang  a  song  he  knew  well. 
He  became  bold,  and  replied  by  singing  it  also. 
The  maid  blushingly  retired;  but  her  heart, 
too,  was  stirred.  To  Henry's  "  Sweet  Kate," 
Jane,  this  fair  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Som- 
erset, plied  questions  anent  the  voice  that  sang 
to  her  from  the  tower.  Meanwhile  the  young 
poet  was  recording  his  impressions: 

And  therewith  cast  I  down  mine  eyes  again 
Where,  as  I  saw,  walking  under  the  tower 

Full  secretly,  now  coming  to  her  plain, 
The  fairest  or  the  freshest  young  flower, 
That  ever  I  saw,  methought,  before  that  hour, 

For  which  sudden  abate,  anon  astart 

The  blood  of  all  my  body  to  my  heart. 

By  the  kind-hearted  queen's  intercession 
James  was  granted  some  liberty,  and  his  in- 


156     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

terest  in  the  Lady  Jane  soon  kindled  into  love. 
When  Henry  returned  to  France  to  do  bat- 
tle against  the  Dauphin,  James  was  requested 
to  accompany  him,  and  the  lovers  were  sepa- 
rated for  a  time.  Instead  of  a  triumphal  re- 
turn like  that  after  Agincourt  or  his  marriage 
with  Katherine,  Henry  was  brought  back  in 
a  cortege,  and  his  sweet  Kate  was  widowed 
after  two  brief  years  of  happiness.  But  she 
generously  espoused  the  cause  of  James  and 
Lady  Jane  and  was  instrumental  in  effecting 
his  freedom  and  their  marriage.  Their  love 
lasted  until  death.  When  the  assassin's  pon- 
iard had  been  struck  through  his  heart  she 
was  with  him  until  his  last  breath  was  drawn 
and  his  last  word—  "  Jane  "  —was  uttered. 
When  Geoffrey  Chaucer  was  valet  to  Edward 
III  he,  too,  beheld  a  fair  maid,  Philippa,  one  of 
Queen  Philippa's  damsels,  walking  in  the  Maid 
of  Honor's  Garden,  whom  he  loved  and  won. 
'  The  pencil  of  the  skillful  graphist,"  says 
one  of  our  guide  books ;  "  is  required  to  give 
an  adequate  idea  of  the  imposing  east  front 
of  the  castle  as  seen  from  the  east  terrace." 
The  pencil  of  the  skillful  graphist  was  all  that 
was  accorded  us  of  the  east  terrace,  which,  we 
learned  with  much  dismay,  is  open  to  visitors 
only  on  Sunday,  when  the  guards'  band  plays 
from  two  to  four.  We  wanted  to  see  the  gar- 


Stoke  Pages  157 

dens  and  orangery  below  the  terrace,  also  the 
elephants  that  had  been  brought  from  Luck- 
now;  and  this  disappointment  was  the  keener 
because  we  had  lingered  so  long  on  the  para- 
pet, looking  down  on  the  Maid  of  Honor's 
Garden  and  talking  of  its  sweet  romance,  that 
we  were  unable  to  see  the  interior  of  the  Round 
Tower  because  we  requested  admission  just 
twenty  minutes  after  the  hour  of  closing — four 
o'clock. 

George  IV's  gateway  is  guarded  by  the 
rival  towers  of  York  and  Lancaster.  The 
Long  Walk  was  thronged  with  people  as  we 
looked  down  upon  it,  and  in  consideration  of 
its  three  miles'  extent  to  Snow  Hill,  whose 
chief  attraction  is  the  "  Copper  Horse,"  we 
contented  ourselves  with  a  brief  stroll  along 
its  sunny  pathway  between  fine  old  elms  and 
ventured  to  dispute  the  guide  book's  asser- 
tion that :  "  Imagination  cannot  picture  an 
approach  of  greater  magnificence." 

Chance  now  directed  our  steps  to  what  we 
most  desired  to  see — the  Royal  Mews.  There 
are  some  private  stables  in  the  Berkshires  and 
on  Long  Island  that  princes  might  covet;  but 
we  found  a  peculiar  charm  in  the  home  of  the 
sleek  bays  that  had  drawn  their  majesties  to 
Royal  Ascot,  of  the  ponies  beloved  of  the  little 
princes  and  in  the  favorite  carriages  of  "  our 


158     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

dear  queen,"  as  we  had  often  heard  our  friends 
call  her.  The  equerry  who  conducted  us 
through  the  stables  and  harness  room  was  the 
right  man  in  the  right  place.  He  loved  his 
horses  and  was  proud  to  exhibit  them  and  their 
handsome  but  refinedly  simple  trappings.  We 
chatted  with  him  of  Ascot,  Olympia,  and  of 
the  Guildford  Coach,  for  we  liked  to  hear  him 
talk;  but  train  time  was  nearing,  and  we  must 
yet  buy  arms-china  and  photographs. 


ARMS  OF 
ST.   A  LEANS, 


CHAPTER   X 

St.  Albans 

"  \\  THERE  are  you  going  to-morrow?  " 
V  V  asked  Miranda-of-the-Balcony,  as 
we  sat  in  the  twilight  among  clambering 
vines  and  glowing  flowers,  looking  over  the 
peaceful  expanse  of  Brompton  Cemetery— 
among  whose  luxuriant  trees  thrushes  and 
wrens  sounded  their  evensong — to  the  glitter 
of  the  Earl's  Court  Exhibition  beneath  a  calm 
young  moon. 

'  We  were  thinking  of   St.  Albans,"   re- 
sponded Diana;  "do  you " 

"  St.  Albans!  Why  in  the  world  are  you 
going  there?  My  dears,  it  is  the  hottest  place! 
and  there's  nothing  to  see.  We  have  tickets 
for  the  morning  performance  at  Terry's.  It 
is  an  American  play.  Do  come  with  us!" 

But  we  went  to  St.  Albans. 

159 


160 


Still  seemed  London  eager  to  place  hazards 
in  the  way  of  our  going;  never  was  she  will- 
ing to  loosen  her  thrall.  Arrived  at  St.  Pan- 
eras  in  good  time  for  the  train  our  new  A.B.  C. 
had  scheduled,  we  found  it  had  been  changed 
without  notice;  and  London  held  our  restless 
persons  until  twenty-three  minutes  after  noon. 
The  day  being  Saturday  and  the  station 
thronged  with  "  bean  feasters,"  we  booked 
first-class  tickets  and  luxuriated  in  blue-cush- 
ioned seclusion  past  'appy  'Ampstead,  where 
long  rows  of  new  houses  are  aiding  the  fulfil- 
ment of  that  old  prophecy  that  Hampstead 
will  one  day  be  the  center  of  London. 

Alas!  Advertising  signs  —  an  atrocious 
Americanism  —  are  permitted  to  deface  this 
lovely  country  at  the  north  of  London.  Can 
it  be  possible  that  soups,  soaps,  paint,  or  pills 
are  desirable  because  they  are  proclaimed  in 
hideous  expanse  beside  the  railway? 

Beyond  Elstree  the  line  runs  for  several 
miles  parallel  to  the  Watling  Street,  a  fitting 
reminder  of  Roman  Verulamium,  most  pow- 
erful and  populous  of  Roman  stations  in  the 
south  of  England,  to  which  the  name  of  a 
Christian  proto-martyr  was  given  when  Offa, 
King  of  Mercia,  founded  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Alban  in  795. 

About  the  year  300  Amphibalus,  a  Chris- 


HV  n-cre  so  fickle  as  to  become  instantly  enamored  of  sundry 
ancient  timbered  houses. 


St.  Albans  161 

tian  preacher  of  Caerleon,  whose  courage  was 
inferior  to  his  conviction,  was  fain  to  flee 
before  the  persecution  that  had  become  ram- 
pant in  Wales  by  order  of  Diocletian,  rather 
than  suffer  martyrdom.  Arriving  at  Veru- 
lamcestre,  he  was  given  refuge  in  the  home  of 
Alban,  a  wealthy  citizen  of  this  town.  The 
pious  guest  converted  his  host  to  his  belief; 
but  scarcely  had  this  been  accomplished  when 
lo!  Amphibalus  was  wanted  by  the  Roman 
Emperor's  emissaries  who  pressed  hotly  about 
the  place  of  his  hiding.  Alban  exchanged 
clothing  with  his  guest — thereby  proving  that 
opera-bouffe  disguises  are  not  so  transparent 
as  we  suppose — and  Amphibalus  escaped. 
Whether  the  pagan  officers  "saw  through"  the 
deception  we  are  not  told;  but  they  were  look- 
ing for  a  man  to  hang,  and  they  found  one. 
Alban,  upon  their  demand  that  he  sacrifice  to 
the  gods  of  Rome,  not  only  refused,  but  re- 
proved them  for  doing  so;  whereupon  he  was 
condemned  to  torture.  This  he  endured  with 
so  sublime  a  patience  that  their  ingenuity  was 
circumvented;  so,  their  merry  sport  having 
lost  its  zest,  Alban  was  condemned  to  be  be- 
headed on  Holmhurst  Hill.  Upon  that  spot 
the  abbey  was  erected  five  hundred  years  later. 
Many  were  the  tales  of  miracles  performed  by 
the  martyr  on  the  day  of  his  execution.  One 


162     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

affirmed  that  when  the  multitude  which  pre- 
ceded him  to  the  place  of  execution  was  de- 
tained by  the  narrow  bridge  across  the  Ver, 
Alban  "by  his  prayer  obtained  that  the  river, 
parting  asunder,  afforded  free  passage  for 
many  together."  Then  followed  the  repent- 
ance and  conversion  of  the  executioner  and  the 
substitution  of  a  cruel  "  Doeg,"  of  whom  it  is 
said  that  when  he  had  struck  off  the  head  of 
the  martyr  "  instantly  his  own  eyes  fell  out  of 
his  body." 

"  How  much  more  effective  that  would  have 
been  if  his  eyes  had  fallen  out  before  he  struck 
the  blow!  "  said  Diana. 

When  Alban's  official  canonization  occurred 
we  do  not  know,  but  his  bones  rested  in  peace 
during  those  five  hundred  years  so  eventful 
in  England.  Offa,  though  a  cruel  man  and 
the  murderer  of  his  kinsman  and  rival  Ethel- 
bert,  evidently  had  a  conscience,  for  we  are 
told  that  his  remorse  permitted  him  no  rest 
day  or  night.  In  a  dream  he  learned  the  con- 
dition of  his  pardon.  He  must  discover  the 
bones  of  Alban  and  raise  an  abbey  dedicated 
to  him.  With  a  procession  of  priests  and 
monks  chanting  litanies  he  started  forth;  but 
they  deserve  no  credit  for  finding  the  saint's 
scanty  remains,  for  a  lightning  flash  from 
heaven  revealed  their  whereabouts,  and  any 


St.  Alban*  163 

doubt  as  to  their  identity  was  precluded  by  a 
band  of  gold,  on  which  ALBAX  was  inscribed, 
circling  the  head.  Scarcely  were  the  precious 
relics  removed  from  the  grave  when  flocks  of 
lame  men  were  made  to  leap,  the  deaf  to  hear, 
etc.  Offa  then  journeyed  to  Rome  and  ob- 
tained pardon  for  his  crime  to  Ethelbert.  It 
was  probably  at  this  time  that  Alban's  canon- 
ization was  solemnized.  Then  "  St.  AJban's 
Abbey  began  to  be  a  fact."  To  the  shrine 
came  pious  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  the  land 
to  be  made  whole.  This  "  worked  "  very  well 
until  the  good  brothers  at  Ely,  whose  coffers 
had  not  such  effectual  means  of  enrichment 
now  that  St.  Etheldreda's  fame  was  waning, 
issued  a  counterclaim  and  announced  to  whom 
it  might  concern  that  Ely  Cathedral  enshrined 
the  "  true  "  relics  of  the  saint,  and  had  done  so 
all  the  time.  The  people  were  told  that  they 
had  been  duped  by  the  monks  at  St.  Alban's. 
Perhaps  it  had  been,  after  all,  the  faith  of  the 
pilgrims  that  had  made  them  whole.  At  any 
rate,  the  efficacy  of  the  shrine  at  St.  Albans 
failed. 

*  To  be  entirely  just,"  says  Froude,  "  in 
our  estimate  of  other  ages  is  not  difficult;  it 
is  impossible."  It  is  not  for  us  therefore  to 
estimate  the  sin  of  men  and  women  who  had 
been  sworn  to  a  holy  life  during  the  Middle 


164     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Ages.  No  darker  records  can  be  shown  than 
those  of  the  unnameable  atrocities  committed 
here;  but  perhaps  the  Church  herself  is  most 
to  blame  for  creating  conditions  so  productive 
of  temptation.  Would  that  we  knew  more  of 
the  saintly  lives  that  were  lived  amid  the 
voluptuous  infamy  of  abbey  and  nunnery! 
At  St.  Alban's  were  a  few  men  who  devoted 
their  lives  to  the  making  of  beautiful  books 
and  to  the  recording  of  their  country's  history. 
Roger  of  Wendover  left  a  most  valuable  ac- 
count of  the  signing  of  Magna  Charta;  Mat- 
thew Paris  wrote  frankly  of  papal  extortion 
and  of  all  the  chief  events  in  the  history  of 
his  day. 

When  we  saw  the  market  booths  in  the 
square  at  St.  Alban's  we  were  glad  we  had 
declined  a  matinee  at  Terry's  Theater.  Our 
transoceanic  hurry  is  always  dispelled  by  a 
market.  To  saunter  admiringly  past  the  pale 
golden  pats  of  butter,  to  stroll  by  waving  laces 
and  ribbons  or  loiter  among  the  color  and 
aroma  of  flowers  and  baskets  of  fruit,  is  in- 
evitable to  market-going.  We  had  to  seize 
firmly  upon  the  certainty  that  guide  books, 
cameras,  and  parasols  bear  no  light  part  in  a 
fatiguing  though  delightful  day  to  successful- 
ly combat  temptation  to  buy  of  the  market's 
wares. 


St.  Albans  165 

The  market  place  is  on  the  summit  of  a  hill 
at  the  meeting  of  several  ways.  We  passed 
therefrom  regretfully,  but  were  so  fickle  as  to 
instantly  become  enamored  of  sundry  ancient 
timbered  houses  leaning  awry  among  the  less 
picturesque  but  more  practicable  edifices  of 
our  own  day.  After  lunching  at  the  Peahen 
we  sought  and  soon  found,  beyond  a  little 
alley  on  the  downward  slope,  St.  Alban's  Ab- 
bey church,  which  has  been  an  Anglican  Ca- 
thedral since  1877. 

Though  the  English  are  conservative,  and 
their  British  predecessors  were  not  a  progres- 
sive people,  there  remains  in  Great  Britain — 
save  at  Bath  and  the  Isle  of  Wight — not  so 
much  as  a  column  to  testify  to  the  glory  that 
was  Roman  during  the  five  hundred  years 
that  these  conquerors  occupied  the  island. 
How  we  of  to-day  would  have  venerated  a 
tiny  temple  of  Vesta  or  a  triumphal  arch  over 
the  Watling  Street  erected  to  Suetonius  or  to 
Caesar  himself,  who  came  as  far  as  Verulam. 
We  must  perforce  be  content  with  walls,  with 
bricks,  with  pots  and  trinkets  that  have  been 
exhumed. 

When  the  Normans  brought  their  love  of 
beauty  and  their  skilled  masons  across  the 
Channel,  they  either  destroyed  in  Christian 
zeal  the  buildings  left  by  the  pagans,  or  else— 


166     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

consciously  or  unconsciously — they  employed 
pagan  materials  in  the  erection  of  Christian 
temples.  It  is  presumable  that  Saxons  and 
Danes  permitted  Roman  buildings  to  stand; 
else  how  came  so  many  Roman  bricks  in  Nor- 
man castles  and  churches? 

St.  Alban's  Abbey  church  is  a  distinct  dis- 
appointment to  the  seeker  after  things  as  they 
were.  It  is  also  a  disappointment  to  lovers  of 
architectural  beauty.  Of  the  abbey  itself, 
chief  of  Hertfordshire's  monastic  buildings 
during  the  Middle  Ages,  only  the  gateway  re- 
mains— a  really  beautiful  remnant  of  a  once 
beautiful  whole. 

When  Henry  VIII  was  giving  away  church 
properties,  the  abbey  church  of  St.  Alban  was 
granted  to  Sir  Richard  Lee.  During  the 
reign  of  Edward  VI  the  inhabitants  of  the 
town  purchased  it  for  a  parish  church.  It  had 
suffered  much  during  the  parliamentary  wars 
from  the  rapacity  of  troops  and  from  prison- 
ers confined  within  it.  The  first  impression  of 
the  church  is  of  a  vast,  ugly  structure,  utterly 
incongruous  and  inharmonious.  Its  elaborate 
new  pink  front  looks  as  though  it  were  pinned 
on  like  an  apron  to  conceal  a  torn  or  spotted 
garment.  The  donor,  we  are  told,  of  the  sev- 
eral hundred  thousand  pounds  which  paid  for 
this  false  front,  was  possessed  of  a  cocksure- 


St.  Allans  167 

ness  of  his  own  architectural  skill,  and  thus 
perpetuated  an  expression  of  Lord  Grim- 
thorpe's  monumental  bad  taste.  Oh,  that  his 
money  had  been  tainted  and  the  gift  refused! 

We  walked  about  the  great  church  seeking 
something  beautiful  or  admirable.  Its  vast 
length,  second  longest  of  any  English  cathe- 
dral, inspired  only  amazement  at  the  extent 
to  which  ugliness  may  be  carried.  Its  emi- 
nence— somewhat  more  than  three  hundred 
feet  above  sea  level  and  the  highest  of  any 
English  cathedral — we  appreciated  later  in 
the  day,  when  we  saw  it  from  a  distance.  In 
our  circumambient  exploration,  however,  we 
found  an  occasional  bit  of  Norman  work;  and 
near  the  foundation  some  Roman  bricks  were 
interspersed  amid  the  masonry.  The  Lady 
Chapel  looks  like  a  lovely  branch  grafted  upon 
a  barren  tree. 

Great  zeal  has  been  employed  in  restoring 
the  interior,  wherein  a  potpourri  of  Norman, 
Early  English,  and  Decorated  styles  plays 
havoc  with  an  already  dizzied  observer.  In 
the  Lady  Chapel,  however,  we  found  more 
harmony.  Some  beautiful  bits  of  old  mold- 
ings, capitals,  figures  of  saints,  and  other  orna- 
mental details  of  the  abbey  in  its  heyday  that 
had  been  incorporated  in  the  wall,  gave  us  as 
much  pleasure  as  anything  in  the  whole  great 


168     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

church.  On  one  of  the  piers  in  the  nave  a 
faded  fresco  recalled  those  of  Giotto  in  Flor- 
ence. In  the  north  transept  are  some  fine 
old  tiles  with  the  fleur-de-lys  of  France  in  the 
center.  The  old  glass  is  easily  descried,  for 
its  mellow  light  emphasizes  the  crude  color  of 
the  new.  One  beautiful  door  remains. 

The  shrine  of  St.  Alban  is  no  longer  heaped, 
like  St.  Anne  de  Beaupre,  with  trophies  of  the 
miraculous  cures  it  once  effected.  The  oaken 
Watching  Gallery  no  longer  throngs  with 
closely  hooded  nuns  looking  down  upon  the 
shrine. 

"  Bless  me!  "  exclaimed  Diana;  "  they  made 
a  saint  of  the  truant  Amphibalus  after  all.  I 
have  been  rather  sorry  that  he  was  so  short- 
sighted as  to  prefer  the  tall  timber  to  canon- 
ization as  a  martyr.  I  wonder,  though,  how 
he  managed  to  get  into  the  Calendar?  Let's 
go  back  to  the  Presbytery  and  see  the  frag- 
ments of  his  shrine." 

The  poetical  attempts  of  certain  bereaved 
persons  are  sometimes  too  interesting  to  be 
overlooked  or  forgotten,  although  the  reader's 
point  of  view  may  not  always  coincide  with 
that  of  the  writer: 

To  THE  MEMORE  OF  MARGERY  ROWLATT 
WIFE  TO  JOHN  MAYNARD  ESQUIRE. 


St.  Albany  169 

Here  lies  intomb'd  a  woman  worthie  fame 

Whose  vertuos  life  gives  honor  to  her  name 

Few  were  her  years,  she  died  in  her  prime 

Yet  in  the  worlde  fulfilled  she  much  tyme 

Which  vertuously  she  spent  providinge  still 

The  hungry  bellies  of  the  poore  to  fill 

Unto  the  God  of  heaven,  thrice  every  day 

Her  prayers  were  heard  God  knewe  her  harts  deser 

And  gave  her  heaven  for  her  eternal  hier 

Where  nowe  she  doth  enjoye  that  endles  blis 

Which  her  redeemer  purchased  for  his." 

Another  speaks  with  surety  of  the  destiny 
of  the  departed: 

To  THE  MEMOEIE  OF  RAFFE  MAYNABD 

The  man  that's  buried  in  this  tombe 

In  heavenly  Canaan  hath  a  roome 

A  gentleman  of  antient  name 

Who  had  to  wife  a  vertuous  dame 

They  lived  together  in  goodlie  sorte 

Fortie  five  years  with  good  reporte 

When  seaventie  and  seaven  yeares  he  had  spent 

His  soule  to  his  Redeemer  went 

His  body  by  will  hereunder  lyes 

Still  harkening  for  the  great  assies 

When  Christ  the  judge  of  quick  and  dead 

Shall  raise  him  from  this  earthly  bedd 

And  give  him  heavens  eternal  blisse 

To  live  and  raigne  with  saints  of  his. 

As   we   passed   into   the  town   again   and 
looked  down  a  steep  road  which  we  believed 


170     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

tended  toward  Berkhampstead  and  whose 
directness  proclaimed  it  a  Roman  road,  we 
spoke  of  the  occasion  when  Duke  William 
with  his  army  was  advancing  along  the  Wat- 
ling  Street  into  his  newly  acquired  domain  and 
was  stopped  by  Frederic,  abbot  of  St.  Albans, 
who,  though  a  preacher  of  meekness  and  peace, 
nevertheless  compelled  the  Conqueror  to  swear 
in  an  assembly  of  clergy  and  nobles  to  govern 
according  to  the  laws  of  his  real  predecessor 
on  England's  throne — Edward  the  Confessor. 
The  domains  of  this  abbey  extended  at  that 
time  through  Essex  Forest  as  far  as  London 
Stone.  If  William  made  fair  promises  in  the 
moment  of  victory  he  quickly  forgot  them,  and 
retaliated  by  seizing  half  of  the  abbey's  forest 
lands,  which  he  cleared  of  their  timber  and 
through  which  he  opened  roads.  The  brave 
Frederic  was  accused  of  treason  and  driven 
into  the  fens  of  Ely,  where  death  overtook  him. 
But  for  the  intercession  of  Lanfranc,  William 
had  put  the  abbey  to  the  torch.  Stripped  of 
its  wealth  it  was;  and  a  Norman  abbot  re- 
placed the  monks'  idle  extravagance  with  rigid 
discipline. 

When  Piers  Gaveston  in  the  time  of  the  sec- 
ond Edward — who  was  really  the  fifth — pud- 
dled the  politics  of  England,  the  barons  who 
were  confederated  against  him  massed  their 


St.  Albans  171 

troops  at  Whethampstead,  also  near  St.  Al- 
bans. When  Isabella,  the  "She  Wolf  of 
France,"  came  to  St.  Albans — in  the  same 
year  that  King  Edward  was  deposed  and  mur- 
dered, and  England  was  at  the  "  mercy  "  of 
herself  and  Mortimer — a  mob  of  outraged  citi- 
zens clamored  about  her  carriage  for  justice. 
The  queen,  who  could  not  understand  English, 
appealed  to  one  of  her  lords  to  translate.  His 
reply  was  a  lie  full  of  coarse  insult  to  the  peo- 
ple. Annoyed  by  the  interruption  she  com- 
manded her  coachman  to  proceed,  and  gave 
thenceforth  to  these  downtrodden  folk  but  an 
insolent  stare.  They,  however,  were  fired  to 
action.  Robbed  long  enough  by  the  monks  and 
scorned  by  royalty  they  attacked  the  abbey, 
which  narrowly  escaped  being  razed.  When 
Edward  III,  a  lad  of  eighteen,  succeeded  in 
asserting  his  rights,  Mortimer  was  killed  and 
the  queen  imprisoned.  The  monks  of  St.  Al- 
ban's  Abbey  were  compelled  to  grant  justice 
to  their  townsmen;  but  when  the  king  was 
busy  elsewhere,  Richard  of  Wallingford — the 
blacksmith  abbot,  who  invented  a  remarkable 
astronomical  clock — again  subjugated  the  pa- 
tient townsmen  to  extortion. 

On  that  same  Corpus  Christi  day,  when  Wat 
Tyler  and  his  men  of  Kent  entered  London,  a 
mob,  led  by  William  Grindcobbe,  came  pour- 


172     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ing  into  the  town  of  St.-Albans  amid  welcom- 
ing shouts  from  farmers  and  citizens.  Strange 
that  another  Richard  of  Wallingford  should 
have  shared  Grindcobbe's  lead  and  demanded 
the  capitulation  of  the  abbey  where  the  previ- 
ous Richard  had  held  dominion!  The  social- 
ism of  Wat  Tyler  was  not  yet  mature  enough 
for  continuance;  but  it  was  a  safety  valve  for 
the  people  who  had  been  oppressed  by  church 
and  state  in  all  parts  of  England  and  were 
waiting  for  a  leader;  and  something  had  been 
gained.  Mobs  have  done  much  for  the  Eng- 
lish people,  for  the  time  is  past  when  a  king 
of  that  land  can  say: 

"  Clowns  ye  have  been  and  clowns  ye  are. 
In  your  bondage  shall  ye  remain ;  not  as  here- 
tofore, but  infinitely  worse.  So  long  as  I  live 
and  reign  I  will  make  you  an  example  to 
future  ages." 

The  people,  like  children,  are  ever  ready  to 
believe  promises ;  and  when  promises  had  been 
made  by  the  insincere  crown  or  prelate  they 
crawled  humbly  to  the  oppressors'  feet, 
supplicating  pardon — they,  the  oppressed! 
Perhaps  the  fate  of  the  rebellious  leaders 
intimidated  the  men  of  St.  Albans.  Grind- 
cobbe  and  thirteen  others  were  hanged  here. 
John  Ball,  famous  as  the  author  of  the 
lines 


St.  Albans  173 

When  Adam  dalf  and  Eve  span, 
Who  was  thanne  a  gentleman? 

was  brought  to  St.  Alban's  a  month  after  his 
triumphal  entry  into  London ;  and  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  timid  boy  King  Richard  II,  who 
was  protected  by  a  thousand  men  at  arms,  he 
was  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  Then  the 
king  went  hunting,  not  having  had  enough  of 
blood,  and  the  citizens  of  St.  Albans  took 
down  from  the  gibbets  the  bodies  of  their 
friends  and  buried  them.  The  royal  order  re- 
quired the  bodies  exhumed  and  again  hung 
upon  the  gallows  tree;  and  right  meekly  was 
it  obeyed! 

The  modern  town  of  St.  Albans  on  its  hill 
is  separated  from  the  ancient  one  of  Verulam 
by  the  river  Ver.  Before  Caesar's  legions  in- 
vaded Albion  there  had  been  a  British  settle- 
ment here,  in  which  the  Romans  established 
themselves  after  having  driven  out  or  mur- 
dered the  inhabitants,  as  was  their  polite  cus- 
tom. 

The  peaceable  Britons,  so  oft  preyed  upon 
by  foreign  foes,  seldom  made  so  notable  a 
stand  for  freedom  as  when  Boadicea — or  Voa- 
dicea,  as  Holinshed  calls  her — sole  leader  of 
her  oppressed  people  against  the  invaders, 
assembled  her  army  here  and  herself  com- 


174     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

manded  the  British  in  a  battle  that  slaugh- 
tered seventy  thousand  Romans  and  their 
allies.  Verulam  was  destroyed;  but  the  re- 
maining Romans  restored  it,  and  its  impor- 
tance as  a  military  station  lasted  until  they 
left  England. 

We  stood  looking  at  the  fields  where  once  a 
lake  had  been,  or  where  the  little  Ver  had 
flowed  in  fuller  stream  in  that  far-gone  day 
when  Alban  prayed  its  division  for  the  multi- 
tude. Now  beyond  the  sparkling  river  be- 
hold! a  considerable  fragment  of  Roman  wall 
marks  unto  this  day  the  boundary  of  Roman 
Verulam.  We  crossed  the  Ver  and  followed  a 
path ;  doubtless  it  was  the  same  which  the  mar- 
tyred Alban  had  trod  nearly  two  thousand 
years  ago,  followed  by  the  throngs  who  wished 
to  see  the  show  that  was  furnished  by  his 
gibbet  on  Holmhurst  Hill.  The  path  fol- 
lowed another  part  of  the  Roman  wall  now 
almost  concealed  by  clustering  vines  and  the 
dense  foliage  of  trees  and  shrubs.  Again  we 
loitered,  drinking  in  present  beauty  while  we 
talked  of  past  ugliness,  the  path  terminating 
at  last  beside  a  broad  highway. 

Light-hearted  we  took  to  the  open  road, 
which,  after  dipping  and  curving  between  the 
borders  of  Verulam  on  the  one  side  and  fertile 
farms  on  the  other,  brought  us  to  the  Watling 


St.  Albans  175 

Street,  pointing  straight  as  an  arrow  toward 
London  and  toward  Dunstable.  We  followed 
it  until  we  came  to  St.  Michael's  Church,  one 
of  the  three  that  Ulsig,  sixth  abbot  of  St. 
Albans,  had  built  on  the  three  principal  high- 
ways that  led  pious  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  of 
the  "  first  Briton  which  to  heaven  led  the 
noble  army  of  martyrs."  St.  Michael's 
Church  boasts  of  possessing  the  tomb  of  Fran- 
cis Bacon,  who  was  Baron  Verulam  and  Vis- 
count of  St.  Albans.  Lord  Bacon,  the  Lord 
Chancellor  of  England,  a  greater  man  than 
"  Steenie  "  —favorite  of  James  I — was  found 
guilty  of  receiving  bribes  and  by  king  and  Par- 
liament was  stripped  of  his  official  robes. 
Strangely  enough  the  evil  that  he  did  lives 
not  after  him,  for  he  is  better  known  to-day  as 
the  author  of  pretty  philosophical  essays  that 
every  schoolgirl  includes  with  Ruskin  and 
Emerson  as  "  just  too  lovely,"  and  as  the 
posthumous  pretender  to  authorship  of  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare  than  as  a  heinous  crimi- 
nal. He  died  in  1623  at  Gorhambury  House, 
his  beautiful  home  near  St.  Albans. 

While  Diana  tried  the  church  door  Sonia 
read  a  card  that  stated  the  keys  to  be  obtain- 
able at  13  St.  Michael's  Cottages. 

Said  Diana,  sinking  wearily  upon  the  cool 
grass  of  the  churchyard :  "  I  don't  want  to  see 


176     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

'  sic  sedebat*  enough  to  compel  me  to  hunt 
for  St.  Michael's  Cottages.  We  have  had  a 
delightful  walk;  let  us  rest  here  a  while  and 
perhaps  we  shall  have  better  luck  at  St. 
Stephen's.  He  may  keep  his  keys  nearer  his 
door." 

"  St.  Stephen's,"  observed  Sonia,  intent 
upon  a  guide  book,  "  is  about  as  far  from  the 
town  as  St.  Michael's — but  in  the  opposite 
direction." 

The  value  of  St.  Stephen's  Church  instantly 
"  broke,"  and  fell  way  below  par  in  our  esti- 
mation. We  sat  therefore  in  the  shadow  of 
a  yew  reading  and  talking  of  Ulsig,  the  abbot 
who  had  built  the  three  churches  and  whose 
memory  is  the  pleasanter  because  he  was  one 
of  the  few  whose  lives  were  devoted  to  the  good 
of  the  townsmen  of  St.  Albans.  He  it  was 
who  laid  out  the  market  place  and  encouraged 
the  people  to  build,  by  loaning  them  not  merely 
money,  but  materials. 

The  monks  of  St.  Alban's  Abbey  had 
friends  in  high  places.  There  came  a  time 
when  the  abbot  was  made  a  peer  of  the  realm ; 
and  when  Nicholas  Breakspeare — the  only 
Englishman  who  has  worn  the  papal  ring — 
became  the  head  of  the  church  he  granted  to 
this  abbey's  executive  many  special  privileges, 
among  which  was  precedence  over  all  other 


St.  Albans 

English  abbots.  If  they  had  all  been  such  men 
as  Ulsig,  what  a  glorious  history  had  been  that 
of  St.  Alban's  Abbey! 

"  It  is  difficult  to  believe,"  Diana  observed, 
"  that  a  place  so  peaceful  as  St.  Albans  is 
to-day  could  have  been  the  scene  of  so  much 
bloodshed  and  horror.  I  had  forgotten  that 
two  important  battles  during  the  Wars  of  the 
Roses  occurred  here." 

While  the  Duke  of  York,  with  whom  were 
the  Earls  of  Salisbury  and  Warwick,  was  jour- 
neying toward  London  at  the  head  of  three 
thousand  men  with  intent  to  seize  his  Grace  of 
Somserset,  who  had  been  impeached  of  treason 
by  the  House  of  Commons,  they  found  St. 
Albans  occupied  by  the  king,  who  had  come 
from  London  with  his  army  of  two  thousand 
to  impede  their  progress.  After  the  battle, 
when  the  victorious  York  came  to  beseech 
pardon  of  his  royal  prisoner,  Henry,  hater  of 
war,  prayed  of  him: 

11  Let  there  be  no  more  killing  then,  and  I 
will  do  whatever  you  will  have  me." 

Six  years  later,  in  1461,  Henry's  queen- 
Margaret  of  Anjou,  who  should  have  been  a 
man — having  vanquished  and  slain  the  Duke 
of  York,  was  returning  to  London,  and  was 
met  near  St.  Albans  by  the  Yorkists  under 
Warwick,  accompanied  by  their  prisoner  the 


178     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

king.  The  Lancastrians  won  and  the  king's 
release  was  obtained. 

"  Was  not  this  the  battle  in  which  the  newly 
knighted  John  Grey  was  slain?  "  asked  Diana. 

"  I  think  so,"  Sonia  responded,  "  and  the 
weeping  but  lovely  -  in  -  her  -  tears  widow 
promptly  and  picturesquely  sought  the  com- 
passion of  the  royal  Edward,  who  had  recently 
supplanted  Henry  the  Timid.  The  minx,  if 
you  remember,  got  him  into  a  fine  predica- 
ment by  marrying  him  despite  his  honor- 
bright  promise  to  the  French  princess." 

"  Yes,  and  she  managed  to  install  her  rela- 
tives in  the  Blue  Book  before  Warwick  suc- 
ceeded in  driving  the  faithless  Edward  from 
England  and  herself  to  Westminster  Abbey 
for  sanctuary.  Who  shall  say  she  lived  in  vain 
or  that  her  dear  John's  demise  was  wholly  as 
disastrous  as  she  represented  to  the  suscep- 
tible Edward?  Here  come  some  people  to  see 
the  church!  Perhaps  they  will  fetch  the  key." 

The  small  boy  of  the  party  was  sent  for  it; 
and  we  saw  Lord  Bacon's  monument. 

Our  return  to  the  town  was  by  way  of  a 
green  lane  bordering  a  field  of  "  corn."  On 
the  tiny  bridge  across  the  Ver  we  paused  to 
look  at  its  pretty  curve. 

Much  has  been  said  in  these  chapters  of 
tea;  yet  tea  is  so  much  a  part  of  the  day  in 


St.  Albans  179 

England,  and  the  tea  hour  brought  us  to  so 
many  delightful  places,  that  this  British  bev- 
erage may  oft  again  recur.  On  this  after- 
noon a  little  street  beginning  at  the  bridge 
disclosed  a  tiny  inn — the  Fighting  Cocks — 
which  claims,  as  do  many  others,  to  be  the 
oldest  inn  in  England.  Certainly  this  was 
the  quaintest  in  our  experience.  Beside  the 
entrance  blooms  a  triangular  bit  of  garden. 
A  larger  one  overlooks  the  river.  Diana's 
stately  head  collided  with  the  ceiling  as  we 
passed  through  the  old  tap  room,  the  cockpit, 
and  the  kitchen,  where  a  bright  kettle  steamed 
on  a  real  hob.  While  we  awaited  tea  in  the 
riverside  garden  Sonia  played  with  a  cat  that 
did  not  want  to  be  photographed  and  Diana 
wished  for  the  brush  of  a  Hobbema  to  paint 
the  silvery  sky  and  far-reaching  fields. 

Ascending  into  the  town  again  we  inquired 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Sopwell  Nunnery, 
and  were  relieved  to  learn  that  it  was  not  near 
enough  for  us  to  seek  it  in  the  brief  interval 
that  remained  before  train  time.  There  can 
be  no  sentimentalizing  by  us  over  this  Nun- 
nery, of  which  so  little  that  is  good  is  known. 
Even  the  ruins,  as  we  saw  them  in  a  photo- 
graph, seemed  utterly  uninteresting.  They 
might  have  been  the  walls  of  a  half-burned 
factory. 


180     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  holy  well  that  was  so  miraculously 
potent  while  St.  Alban's  shrine  retained  its 
efficacy,  and  that  had  been  summoned  into 
existence  by  the  martyr's  prayer  on  the  day 
of  his  execution  when  he,  being  athirst,  prayed 
for  somewhat  to  slake  his  suffering,  has  been 
"  filled  in,"  we  were  told. 

At  the  station  we  climbed  into  a  third-class 
carriage  on  a  train  that  we  hurried  to  catch. 

"  Are  you  sure  this  is  the  train  for  Lon- 
don? "  asked  Sonia,  usually  confident  in  her 
friend's  capability. 

"  I  asked  a  newsboy,  a  porter,  two  male  pas- 
sengers, a  woman,  and  a  boy,"  she  replied, 
short  of  breath  and  with  a  dash  of  scorn.  So- 
nia, still  unconvinced,  leaned  out  and  called 
to  a  guard  who  had  slammed  the  door. 

"  Is  this  train  for  London?  " 

"  No!  You  should  be  on  platform  number 
three.  Up  the  stairs  and  over  the  bridge. 
Here  it  comes  now !  You  will  have  to  hurry." 

"  It  really  seems,"  averred  Diana,  when  the 
"  right  train  "  had  shrieked  and  started,  and 
we  had  leaned  out  for  a  last  look  at  St.  Al- 
ban's Cathedral  —  somewhat  borrowing  en- 
chantment from  distance—  "  as  though  Lon- 
don is  determined  to  be  as  inhospitable  as  she 
is  captivating." 


CHAPTER   XI 

The  Henley  Regatta  and  Down  the  Thames 
to  Maidenhead 

A'  Paddington  we  looked  about  for  signs 
of  regatta  enthusiasm  such  as  would  ob- 
tain in  Grand  Central  Station  on  Yale-Har- 
vard day;  but  we  saw  none.  Some  one  has 
said  that  the  Englishman  takes  his  pleasure 
sadly.  Certain  it  is  that  he  takes  it  leisurely; 
for  the  inter-university  rowing  races  which  oc- 
cur annually  on  the  Thames  at  Henley  are  of 
three  davs'  duration.  We  had  chosen  the  last 

tf 

day  because  of  probable  finals  and  greatest 
interest.  Signs  of  the  Stream  of  Pleasure's 
magnetism  became  plentiful  as  our  train  ap- 
proached Henley.  Beflanneled  men  carried 
oars  and  luncheon  baskets;  beruffled  girls 
bore  parasols  and  boat  cushions.  Everybody 
smiled  happily.  At  the  station  all  was  gayety 
and  pleasurable  excitement.  Almost  we  ex- 

181 


182     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

pected  that  some  of  the  tall  young  men  in  the 
bright  blazers  of  their  colleges,  or  perhaps  one 
of  the  clean-shaven  clergymen  were  awaiting 
us.  But  none  among  them  greeted  us,  and 
we  passed  into  the  street,  where  vendors  of 
Japanese  parasols,  regatta  programmes,  and 
post  cards  were  not  so  willing  to  let  us  proceed 
unnoticed. 

We  had  engaged  rooms  at  the  White  Hart 
at  inauguration  prices  rather  than  return  to 
London  on  a  crowded  train.  We  were  also 
forethoughtful  of  another  day  on  the  river. 

A  kind-hearted  and  frugal  bobby  told  us 
the  White  Hart  was  "  just  over  there,"  and 
we  walked  nearly  half  a  mile  in  the  hot  sun, 
past  several  inns  dedicated  to  various  mem- 
bers of  the  royal  anatomy  and  to  highly  col- 
ored wild  beasts  ere  we  perceived  the  golden 
letters  on  the  White  Hart's  modest  fa£ade. 
We  should  have  profited  by  our  experience  en 
route  to  Boulter's  Lock  from  the  Maidenhead 
Station;  but  who  could  doubt  the  accuracy 
of  a  rosy-cheeked  bobby  whose  blue  eyes  looked 
so  honest? 

We  searched  vainly  for  the  entrance;  but 
there  seemed  to  be  none  save  that  to  the  tap- 
room. Midway  through  a  driveway  into  a 
large  courtyard  an  entrance  was  at  length  re- 
vealed. While  Sonia  spoke  of  the  beauty  of 


The  Henley  Regatta  183 

the  ivy-lined  court  and  deplored  the  necessity 
of  great  signs  indicative  of  the  prices  of  meals, 
Diana  sought  a  means  of  announcing  the 
arrival  of  guests  to  whom  it  might  concern; 
for  the  door  was  open  and  nothing  human  was 
visible  beyond  it.  She  found  a  brass-handled 
bell  rope  beneath  an  oval  plate  on  which  was 
graven  BOOTS.  She  pulled  the  bell  rope  tim- 
orously and  raised  such  a  clamor  somewhere 
within  that  she  was  mischievously  tempted  to 
test  the  result  of  a  vigorous  pull.  This  was 
prevented  by  the  appearance  of  a  woman  who, 
after  examining  our  credentials,  pulled  another 
bell  and  bade  a  housemaid  show  us  to  our 
apartments. 

"  Feather  beds!  "  gasped  Sonia.  "  Well,  it 
is  only  for  one  night ;  and  do  you  see  that  dear 
little  casement  window? " 

Diana  caressed  the  leaded  diamond  panes 
and  opened  the  casement,  which  admitted  a 
great  waft  of  fragrance  from  tall  syringas. 
Beyond  them  we  descried  a  many-angled  roof 
that  may  have  been  a  part  of  the  inn.  Its  seem- 
ingly purposeless  gables  and  tiny  eyelike 
windows  winking  among  age-mellowed  tiles 
were  more  like  old  Niirnberg  than,  we  sup- 
posed, England.  Still  farther  away  a  clock 
striking  eleven  bade  us  notice  the  fine  church 
tower  that  held  it. 


184     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"You  are  very  nice,"  said  Sonia;  "but  I 
think  if  some  one  were  to  tell  me  that  Julius 
Csesar  had  been  crowned  in  your  church  on 
Washington's  birthday  by  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  I  should  say :  '  No ;  we  are  not 
sight-seeing  to-day.  We  are  here  to  behold 
a  spectacle.' ' 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  be  off,  then,"  sug- 
gested Diana,  shaking  out  the  folds  of  her 
sunshade. 

Our  rooms  gave  into  a  long  narrow  corridor 
whose  windows  indicated  that  it  bounded  the 
courtyard  on  at  least  two  sides.  We  spoke 
of  the  embryo  theaters  in  Will  Shakspeare's 
day  and  those  earlier  Miracles  and  Mysteries 
that  were  played  in  just  such  places.  The 
woman  in  charge  of  the  inn  overheard  us  in 
passing.  She  paused  to  tell  us  that  the  White 
Hart  has  undoubtedly  existed  since  the  year 
1600,  and  may  have  been  erected  somewhat 
earlier.  This  corridor  had  been  an  open  gal- 
lery, and  Elizabethan  players  are  known  to 
have  performed  in  the  yard.  As  in  all  the 
inns  we  had  seen,  there  were  here  many  pieces 
of  rich  old  mahogany  and  rosewood;  chairs, 
tables,  sofas  in  the  corridors ;  tall  clocks  on  the 
stair  landings  and  gilt  mirrors  on  the  walls; 
old  willow  china  and  Crown  Derby  in  draw- 
ing-room or  banqueting  hall. 


The  Henley  Regatta  185 

On  Henley's  strong  stone  bridge  we  paused 
and  leaned  upon  the  rail  while  we  looked  down 
the  long  regatta  course  against  whose  green 
shores  hundreds  of  punts  were  drawn  in  readi- 
ness for  hire.  The  vivid  color  of  flags  and 
pennants  amid  the  green  gave  a  gala  atmos- 
phere, although  the  stirring  human  element 
was  still  lacking.  In  the  garden  of  the  Red 
Lion  Inn  on  the  river  bank  were  tables  and 
chairs,  mutely  inviting  mankind  to  refect  un- 
der the  free  heaven  and  in  the  shade  of  trees. 
On  both  banks  of  the  stream  long  lines  of 
gaily  draped  stands  and  marquees  awaited 
the  regatta's  interested  spectators. 

When,  a  fortnight  earlier,  we  had  noticed 
in  our  morning  paper  an  advertisement  of  the 
Henley  Regatta,  we  instantly  determined  to 
"  take  it  in."  Our  English  friends,  one  of 
whom  had  once  been  to  Henley,  directed  us 
to  a  bookseller  in  the  Earl's  Court  Road  who 
could  furnish  tickets  to  an  inclosure  known 
as  Phyllis  Court.  We  told  him  we  could  go 
only  one  day,  preferably  the  last.  The  tickets 
would  be  a  guinea  each,  he  remarked  in  a  care- 
less, offhand  manner;  but  if  we  would  econo- 
mize we  would  better  subscribe  the  extremely 
low  amount  of  two  pounds  ten,  and  thus  be 
enabled  to  attend  the  entire  three  days'  re- 
gatta. Paternal  letters  of  credit,  howsoever 


186     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

generous,  have  limitations,  and  the  extent  of 
our  past  peregrinations  and  future  plans  sug- 
gested the  wisdom  of  avoiding  unnecessary 
extravagance.  In  view  of  the  inn's  tariff  and 
probable  incidentals  we  frugally  concluded  to 
forego  the  Court  of  Phyllis  and  seek  a  less 
costly  coign  of  vantage. 

When  a  woman  economizes,  she  usually 
ends  by  spending  more  than  if  she  had  bought 
the  thing  of  which  she  is  denying  herself,  and 
burdens  herself  or  others  with  makeshifts. 
Makeshifts  are  the  most  costly  of  purchases; 
because  instead  of  the  right  thing  at  the  right 
price,  the  makeshift  means  sacrifice  of  com- 
fort and  convenience,  plus  entire  absence  of 
satisfaction,  whereas  the  supposed  saving  of 
expenditure  results  in  a  sum  total  of  unfore- 
seen extras  which  the  higher  price  might  have 
included. 

We  had  our  experience. 

Looking  down  from  the  Henley  Bridge  we 
saw  Phyllis  Court,  cool,  shady.  The  Empire 
Stand,  on  which  we  had  secured  numbered 
seats  at  half  a  guinea,  we  descried  after  much 
search  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Thames. 

"  Not  so  bad ! "  was  our  first  half-hearted 
expression  of  comment.  The  first  race  was 
scheduled  for  one  o'clock.  The  church  clock 
now  vibrated  solemnly  the  noon  hour.  Re- 


The  Henley  Regatta  187 

membering  Yale-Harvard  day  along  the 
sound  we  marveled  that  so  few  beholders  had 
yet  appeared  on  this  long-established  occa- 
sion. Through  a  trampled  field,  past  grand- 
stands galore,  malformed  mendicants,  and 
vendors  who  out-Conied  Coney  Island,  we  at 
last  presented  our  pink  tickets  and  climbed 
upon  the  Empire  Stand.  It  was  vast  and 
empty,  save  for  an  usher  and  ourselves. 

"  I  am  glad  we  came  early,"  said  Diana, 
panting  a  little;  for  we  had  hurried  lest  any- 
thing interesting  be  "  missed." 

"  It  will  be  nice,"  assented  Sonia,  "  to  see 
the  gathering  of  the  clans." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  skeptical,"  Diana  re- 
marked after  a  time,  a  dead  weight  of  forebod- 
ing anchoring  the  spirit  that  loved  to  soar  on 
the  wings  of  enthusiasm,  "  but  I  believe  we 
are  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river.  The  shade 
of  these  trees  will  desert  us  and  our  nice  front 
seats  will  be  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  sun." 

Sonia  hoped  her  friend  was  mistaken. 

A  centipede-like  shell  came  up  the  smooth 
stream  coached  by  a  man  on  a  polo  pony  can- 
tering along  the  bank,  who  managed  bridle 
and  megaphone  with  much  skill. 

The  long  line  of  stands  of  which  the  em- 
pire was  one  were  set  back  some  little  distance 
from  the  river.  Evidently  the  space  served 


188     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

for  promenaders.  Some  way  down  the  river 
a  row  of  houseboats  was  moored  to  the  oppo- 
site poplar-bordered  shore.  They  were  deco- 
rated with  bright  flowers  and  awnings;  and 
from  each  masthead  hung  a  flag.  On  one  Old 
Glory  lay  as  limply  as  did  the  Union  Jacks 
hard  by.  Could  they  all  be  weary  of  three 
days'  regatting?  Perish  the  thought  so  early 
in  the  day!  Gradually  punts  were  pushed 
into  midstream  and  seemed  to  be  enjoying  a 
leisurely  uneasiness.  The  women  in  fair  rai- 
ment lolled  comfortably  under  gaily  colored 
sunshades.  Their  cavaliers,  standing  to  wield 
the  long  punting  poles,  displayed  much  of  the 
lithe  grace  of  gondoliers.  Other  crews 
"  warmed  up  "  under  megaphonic  instruction. 
There  was  promise  of  something  to  happen  ere 
long.  A  sloe-eyed  gypsy  with  a  beautiful  but 
dirty  baby  in  her  arms  solicited  silver  that  she 
might  tell  our  fortunes.  Some  negro  minstrels 
came  along,  serenaded,  went.  We  were  until 
now  sole  occupants  of  a  stand  large  enough 
to  accommodate  several  hundred  people.  A 
half  dozen  noisy  girls  and  men,  with  the  easily 
provoked  laugh  of  bourgeois  birth  seated 
themselves  at  the  far  end.  A  continuous  suc- 
cession of  performers  selected  henceforth  the 
newcomers  as  an  audience,  and  with  singular 
discrimination  passed  us  by — to  our  infinite 


The  Henley  Regatta  180 

relief.  A  ballad-bawling  man  having  passed 
his  butterfly  net  and  collected  a  few  coppers, 
Diana  turned  wearily  and  said  to  her  friend: 

"  I  thought  we  came  here  to  see  boat  rac- 
ing; but  it  appears  we  unwittingly  engaged 
seats  for  a  worse  than  concert-hall  show.  I 
never  realized  until  now  how  much  glamour  is 
contributed  by  the  limelight,  or  how  utterly 
tawdry  and  banal  the  cruel  sunlight  shows 
such  mummery  to  be." 

"  Something  is  going  to  happen  now! "  ex- 
claimed Sonia,  the  optimist. 

A  launch  came  up  the  course  and  drove  the 
punts  toward  the  shores  of  the  river,  clearing 
the  way  for  the  first  race.  Far  below  a  pistol 
shot  was  heard;  and  at  length  two  very  lively 
centipedes  skimmed  past  while  a  mild  wave  of 
voices  evidently  wished  to  encourage  but  not 
to  alarm  with  too  much  vehemence.  One  or 
two  men  shouted;  one  of  the  boats  won  the 
race;  then  the  punters  pushed  out  into  mid- 
stream again  and  the  itinerant  vaudeville  con- 
tinued. All  the  folk  on  land  and  water  seemed 
relieved  that  the  interruption  had  ceased. 

Sonia  looked  wistfully  over  the  heads  of  two 
perspiring  tumblers  in  collarless  and  coatless 
street  attire  and  the  fourth-class  audience 
they  sought  to  amuse  to  Phyllis  Court  across 
the  river,  where  women  of  our  own  sort 


190     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

strolled  about  or  sat  in  easy  chairs  on  the 
shady  riverside  terrace.  With  our  persons 
were  we  paying  far  more  than  we  had  saved 
in  shillings  on  that  fateful  day  of  economy. 

"  If  I  could  have  a  coat  of  arms,"  said  Diana 
wistfully,  "I  should  inscribe:  '  The  best  or 
nothing'  upon  it." 

"  Suppose  we  go  to  the  luncheon  tent  now," 
said  Sonia.  "  Perhaps  there  will  be  a  rush 
later,  and  we  have  an  hour  to  spare — or  kill- 
before  the  next  race."  We  sought  the  neces- 
sary ticket  seller.  Signs  were  plentiful,  ad- 
vertising luncheons  at  half  a  crown. 

"  Seven  and  six  each,"  said  the  ticket  seller 
in  a  tone  intended  to  convey  the  notion  that 
this  was  the  last  word.  Poor  Diana,  bearer 
of  joint  funds,  who  abominates  bickering,  at 
length  secured  what  she  at  first  requested— 
two  half-crown  tickets.  With  flushed  faces 
and  no  appetite  we  approached  the  tents  whose 
tables  were  heavily  spread  in  readiness  for 
people  who  did  not  come  and  whose  waiters 
were  disconsolately  idle.  We  seated  ourselves. 
A  waiter  asked  to  see  our  tickets. 

'  You  must  have  seven-and-sixpenny  tick- 
ets," he  said. 

"  No,"  replied  Diana,  who  was  having  some- 
thing too  much  of  this,  "  I  should  not.  Are 
you  serving  any  luncheons  for  two  and  six? " 


~ 

0 


The  Henley  Regatta  191 

"  Yes,  miss,  in  the  next  tent." 

Seated  in  the  "  next  tent,"  another  waiter 
demanded  a  five-shilling  ticket.  Again  we 
rose  in  our  wrath  and  proceeded.  We  were 
the  more  enraged  and  humiliated  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  had  we  been  in  Phyllis  Court  there 
would  have  been  no  extra  charge  for  luncheon. 
The  only  comfort  in  the  present  situation  was 
that  we  had  disposed  of  some  of  the  superflu- 
ous time.  The  following  race  was  "  eights  " 
instead  of  "  fours."  That  was  about  the  only 
difference — the  number  of  legs  on  each  centi- 
pede. Then  came  an  interval  of  two  hours. 
The  space  before  the  stand  was  thronged  with 
people,  classified  by  the  scornful  Diana  as 
"  among  the  lower  orders  of  animal  life."  The 
heat  was  intense;  our  seats  were  in  the  full 
rays  of  the  sun,  and  what  with  this  and  utter 
ennui  we  were  sorely  tempted  by  the  sweet 
seductiveness  of  sleep.  We  had  nothing  to  talk 
about,  nothing  to  do.  The  charm  of  the  river 
was  destroyed  by  the  inescapable  foreground. 
To  force  a  way  through  throngs  of  perspiring 
Britons  to  our  hotel  was  not  to  be  imagined. 
We  had  bought  seats  for  a  "  bargain  matinee," 
and  we  had  not  yet  wholly  paid  for  them.  So 
we  nodded  heavily  in  invertebrate  discomfort 
during  the  long  two  hours,  while  organettes 
wheezed  of  "  Poppies,"  brazen-voiced  women 


192     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

shrieked  of  "  Violets,"  and  a  cornet  blew  blasts 
of  "  Sourire  d'Avril."  We  gave  money  to 
them  all,  silently  grateful  because  their  per- 
formances were  addressed  to  the  other  end  of 
the  otherwise  empty  Empire  Stand.  A  man  on 
long-skirted  stilts  cavorted  for  the  delectation 
of  the  gawping  yokels,  who  should  have  been 
wearing  smocks  and  chewing  straws.  He  also 
glanced  at  us  and  passed  comprehendingly  to 
the  loudly  laughing  folk  at  the  stand's  lower 
end. 

'  The  Henley  Regatta,"  said  Sonia  scorn- 
fully, "is  no  regatta  at  all.  It  is  a  county 
fair;  a  pretext  for  giving  the  British  public  a 
holiday — three  successive  ones." 

'  The  marvel  is,"  averred  Diana,  "  that  the 
British  public  can  enjoy  it.  But  it  does. 
These  vermin  here — I  am  uncharitable — pre- 
fer mountebanks;  the  folk  there  on  the  river, 
lunching,  sleeping,  or  reading,  are  pleasing 
themselves  after  their  own  manner;  and  those 
lovely  ladies  over  there  in  that  heavenly  Phyl- 
lis Court  are  the  most  contented  of  all." 

We  went  out  to  the  luncheon  tent  in  quest 
of  something  liquid.  Diana  said  she  was  dying 
for  an  ice-cream  soda,  and  would  drink  no 
more  warm  Apollinaris,  so  we  compromised 
on  lemon  squash — iceless,  of  course. 

When  a  shot  announced  the  coming  of  the 


The  Henley  Regatta  193 

half -past-three  race,  Diana  avowed  willingness 
to  give  a  golden  guinea  to  hear  just  one  Amer- 
ican college  "  yell." 

"  How  can  they  expect  anybody  to  be  in- 
terested in  their  old  races  after  making  us  wait 
these  horrible  two  hours?  And  who  is  inter- 
ested in  the  races  but  the  racers? "  Thus 
Sonia. 

When  Eton  had  won  some  cup  or  other, 
and  the  lukewarm  enthusiasm  had  ceased,  we 
forced  our  way  to  the  bridge,  from  which  we 
looked  down  on  the  day's  most  interesting 
scene — a  long,  broad  stretch  of  boat-strewn 
river ;  on  both  sides  the  deep  green  of  midsum- 
mer England.  Where  was  the  Fortuny  to 
immortalize  the  sparkle  of  so  brilliant  a  dis- 
play? The  rich  tone  of  St.  Mary's  bell  ad- 
vised that  tea  time  and  cool  rooms  at  the  White 
Hart  were  at  hand. 

The  day's  programme  had  included  an  "  im- 
posing pyrotechnic  exhibition  "  as  a  fit  conclu- 
sion to  so  brilliant  an  occasion.  In  the  early 
dusk  we  entered  St.  Mary's  churchyard  and 
paused  to  look  at  a  row  of  pleasant  almshouses 
that  faced  it.  A  young  man  in  evening  clothes 
passed  us,  returned  and  said,  his  hat  doffed: 

"Pardon  me!  are  you  ladies  looking  for 
the  lane  to  Phyllis  Court? "  Earlier  in  the 
day  this  would  have  been  a  rapier  thrust. 


194    Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

When  he  had  gone  beyond  overhearing  Diana 
said: 

"  I  love  that  dear  boy  for  thinking  we  look 
as  though  we  were  going  to  Phyllis  Court. 
He  has  poured  balm  upon  my  wounded  spirit." 

In  the  darkness  we  paused  to  admire  the 
homelike  rooms  in  the  almshouses,  which  were 
now  revealed  by  their  lighted  lamps.  The 
shriek  of  a  rocket  warned  us  that  the  impos- 
ing pyrotechnic  exhibition  was  beginning. 
We  hastened  to  the  river  bank,  where  a  few 
village  folk  and  motors  were  grouped.  With 
them  we  patiently  waited.  Persuading  our- 
selves at  length  that  we  had  mistaken  the 
rocket-line  sound,  we  perceived  the  colored  fire 
from  a  single  Roman  candle  jerked  off  ball 
by  ball.  Another  long  wait  terminated  in  an- 
other rocket.  Then  we  laughed  and  went 
back  to  the  White  Hart's  feather  beds. 

The  morning  dawned  chill  and  damp  with 
impending  rain.  Despite  a  remarkably  rain- 
less summer,  we  had  been  true  to  the  tradi- 
tional necessity  for  rain  coats  and  umbrellas. 
The  littered  shores  of  the  river  looked  like  the 
aftermath  of  a  country  circus.  Even  on  the 
river  itself  we  were  all  day  subject  to  annoy- 
ances due  to  the  Henley  Regatta.  Raftloads 
of  punts  clogged  the  locks  and  delayed  the 
uncomplaining  steamer  somewhat  more  than 


The  Henley  Regatta  195 

an  hour  in  its  fifteen-mile  transit  between  Hen- 
ley and  Maidenhead. 

Sky  and  river  were  gray ;  there  was  no  hori- 
zon. Mist  lay  upon  the  meadows,  and  yet  we, 
whom  yesterday  had  bored,  thought  this  day 
delightful. 

We  were  surprised  to  find  that  on  the  little 
steamer  were  but  few  passengers.  Those  who 
preceded  us  had  preempted  all  the  dozen  or  so 
hard,  flat  cushions  mercifully  provided  to  ease 
the  discomfort  of  the  boat's  gridiron-like  seats. 

The  worn  trail  of  the  regatta  past,  it  was 
good  to  see  only  green  fields  and  banks  un- 
trodden by  humans. 

We  had  strolled  about  Henley  on  the  pre- 
vious afternoon  and  found  it  pleasant;  but 
there  was  little  to  suggest  the  town's  great  age. 
The  Britons  had  a  station  there  called  Hanle- 
gang.  But  Henley  boasts  no  historic  thrills, 
though  there  is  still  standing  in  front  of  the 
grammar  school  an  elm  tree  from  which  a 
Roundhead  spy  wras  hanged.  A  skirmish  oc- 
curred here  during  the  civil  war.  The  Blue- 
coat  School,  now  merged  in  the  grammar 
school,  was  founded  by  a  sister  of  Lord  Bacon 
of  St.  Albans.  Henley  is  famous  for  the 
regatta  chiefly. 

Phyllis  Court,  our  Pleasaunce  of  Dreams, 
was  once  the  royal  residence  of  the  Prince  of 


196     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Orange,  but  is  now  one  of  the  many  clubs  to 
which  the  river  has  given  rise. 

At  Hambleden  Lock  an  old  man  disturbed 
our  pleasure  in  the  ivy-clad  cottage  and  the 
roses  over  and  about  it  by  riddling  a  mock- 
merry  melody.  Yesterday  was  too  fresh  in 
memory  for  us  to  accept  kindly  his  squealing 
tunes;  but  his  irascibility  when  pennies  were 
thrown  before  the  conclusion  of  his  solo  was 
funny;  and  we  forgave  him  because  he  made 
us  laugh. 

Below  Yewden  we  passed  an  elaborate  resi- 
dence of  an  Anglicized  German,  who  is  said 
to  have  been  a  benefactor  to  Hamburg.  Here 
we  met  swans  for  the  first  time  to-day.  Fields 
in  which  hay  carts  were  being  loaded  with 
fragrant  burdens  increased  the  sense  of  tran- 
quillity which  even  on  a  cloudy  morning  per- 
vades the  river.  Beyond  the  hay  meadows 
gently  undulating  pastures,  where  sleek  dun 
cattle  grazed,  inspired  Diana  to  say: 

"No  wonder  cream  is  good  in  London!" 
Sonia,  in  more  exalted  mood,  quoted: 

"  Like  a  bird  singing  in  the  rain — " 

After  yesterday's  hurly-burly  to  glide  si- 
lently down  the  smooth  river  listening  to  bird 
notes  and  watching  the  ineffable  grace  of  the 
swallows  darting  up  and  down,  bright  flashes 


Rafts  loaded  with  punts  returning  from  Henley. 


The  Henley  Regatta  197 

of  blue  and  buff  now  dipping  to  the  water, 
then  circling  swiftly  above  the  meadows — 
seemed  tike  a  day  culled  from  another  life. 

We  had  read  "  Sir  Richard  Escombe,"  and 
Medmenham  Abbey  recalled  that  vivid  tale  of 
love  and  intrigue.  The  abbey  in  ruins,  how- 
ever, had  been  more  picturesque  than  the  pres- 
ent reconstructed  residence,  although  the  tower 
has  been  left  partly  in  ruins,  and  its  mantle 
of  ivy  has  been  added  with  the  master  touch 
of  Xature.  Diana  made  a  note  of  the  Abbey 
Hotel,  declaring  that  she  was  "  going  to  bring 
mother  here  some  summer." 

Below  the  abbey  the  river  becomes  more 
sinuous,  its  banks  as  fresh  and  undisturbed  as 
though  'twere  Arcady.  The  sparse  late-sum- 
mer flowers  of  the  iris  greeted  us  like  dear 
friends  long  unseen.  Suddenly  a  turn  in  the 
stream  whisked  us  out  of  Arcady  into  Eng- 
land, whose  gentry  know  so  well  where  and 
how  to  build  their  country  homes.  High  on  a 
densely  wooded  slope  a  great  white  mansion 
gleamed  amid  the  green.  Danesfield,  it  must 
be,  we  thought,  near  which  are  the  remains  of  a 
Danish  camp.  Or  was  this  New  Danesfield? 
Of  its  beauty,  however,  there  was  no  question. 
'Chiltern,"  Diana  read;  "'is  derived 
from  the  Saxon  cylt,  meaning  chalk.'  Please 
notice  that  all  chalk  hills  are  not  '  downs.' " 


198     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

We  had  been  for  some  time  in  sight  of  the 
Chiltern  Hills,  which  became  gradually  higher 
and  more  impressively  beautiful.  Now  we 
passed  chalky  cliffs  topped  with  emerald.  In 
every  cranny  grew  tall  foxglove,  planted  with 
Nature's  inimitable  cunning  and  making  a 
wholly  new  color  note  in  the  river's  gamut. 

There  was  many  a  conventual  building 
along  the  Thames  in  those  "  good  "  old  days 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  Choked  by  rafts  loaded 
with  punts  returning  from  Henley  was  Hur- 
ley Lock;  and  a  dense  mist  having  shut  out 
the  world  we  read  of  the  priory  Geoffrey  de 
Mandeville  had  founded  here,  which  was  "  an- 
nexed "  to  Westminster  Abbey  not  long  after 
the  Norman  rule  began.  There  still  exists  the 
crypt  of  the  monastery  where  assembled  se- 
cretly the  nobles  who  were  principals  in  the 
plot  to  dethrone  James  II  and  import  William 
of  Nassau  to  occupy  the  throne  by  right 
divine. 

Then  there  was  Bisham  Abbey — Bisham 
being  a  contraction  of  Bustlesham — built  in 
1338  by  William  Montacute,  Earl  of  Salis- 
bury. It  is  not  to  be  wondered  that  Henry 
VIII,  whose  sub-acute  appreciation  of  all 
beauty  but  feminine,  chose  to  suppress  the 
Augustinian  friars  of  Bisham  and  add  this 
fair  abbey  to  his  own  list  of  royal  residences, 


The  Henley  Regatta  199 

especially  if  its  structural  beauty,  backed  by 
tall  trees  and  half  concealed  by  ivy,  were  then 
as  now  enhanced  by  superb  flower  borders. 

"  Southern  planters  say  that  cotton  is  the 
most  spiritual  of  plants,  because  it  can  be 
grown  for  many  successive  seasons  in  the  same 
land  without  detracting  from  the  richness  of 
the  soil.  Ivy,  I  should  say,  is  the  most  tactful 
of  plants.  It  always  knows  how  much  to  con- 
ceal and  how  much  to  reveal."  Thus  spake 
Diana. 

Of  all  the  flower-decked  locks  we  had  seen 
along  the  Thames,  Temple  Lock  took  prece- 
dence. Red-rose  arches,  tall  pink-rose  trees  in 
full  bloom,  masses  of  Canterbury  bells  and 
larkspurs  were  offset  by  a  background  of 
lindens  and  elders,  also  in  full  flower  and  fra- 
grance. Between  the  old  and  new  Temple 
Locks  is  a  walled  eyot,  also  gay  with  gerani- 
ums and  the  bright  faces  of  pansies.  Temple 
House,  on  a  quiet  backwater,  spoke  softly  to 
us  of  England's  love  of  home  life. 

;'Look!"  exclaimed  Sonia,  indicating  a 
group  of  three  trees  on  a  hillock  some  distance 
from  the  river,  which,  with  the  single  slanting 
ray  of  sunlight  breaking  through  the  heavy 
clouds  behind  them,  might  have  been  Rem- 
brandt's chosen  subject  for  the  most  beloved 
of  his  etchings. 


200     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Henceforward  for  several  miles — all  the 
way  to  Maidenhead,  in  fact — the  scenery  of 
the  Thames  assumes  a  quiet  grandeur  that  is 
surprising  in  consideration  of  the  gentle  un- 
dulation or  uncompromising  flatness  of  its 
valley  elsewhere.  Why  is  the  Rhine  so  fa- 
mous? Or,  rather,  why  is  the  Thames  not 
equally  renowned  for  beauty  as  well  as  for 
historic  interest? 

Marlow  is  a  large  old  town.  Some  of  Shel- 
ley's poems  were  written  here.  Marlow's  weir 
is  the  largest  we  saw;  and  from  the  force  of 
the  ordinary  outflow  over  its  curved  dam  it  is 
easy  to  conjecture  how  greatly  would  spring 
freshets  damage  the  shores  of  the  Thames  but 
for  the  locks.  "  Gentlemanly  Marlow!  " 

The  Thames  has  a  way  of  confiding  its  se- 
crets with  an  almost  feminine  assurance  that 
never  before  have  they  been  revealed.  Had 
our  Berkshire  Hills  a  Thames  curving  in  their 
valleys  they  would  be  like  unto  the  Chilterns. 
In  such  as  the  sloping  Quarry  Wood  might 
the  "  real  "  Diana  have  hurled  her  lance.  In 
such  a  wood  might  Paul  and  Virginia  have 
dreamed  away  their  sweet  romance.  Quarry 
Hall  abuts  on  a  sharp  bend  in  the  river  with 
so  much  abruptness  that  Sonia  held  her  breath 
lest  the  steamer's  prow  collide  with  the  garden 
wall. 


The  Henley  Regatta  201 

Beyond  the  little  village  of  Bourne  End  a 
long  line  of  poplars  on  the  river  bank  divides 
to  disclose  a  low,  comfortable  house.  Farther 
on,  gigantic  rustic  baskets  set  on  a  broad, 
smooth  lawn,  filled  with  scarlet  geraniums, 
their  handles  twined  with  graceful  vines,  were 
an  effective  fancy. 

Cookham  is  old  enough  to  have  been  men- 
tioned in  "  Domesday  Survey,"  and  is  charm- 
ing enough  to  be  mentioned  in  many  other 
books.  The  river  here  is  divided  into  several 
channels.  At  Cookham  Lock  we  were  again 
delayed  an  unconscionable  time.  Inaction  is 
not  always  restful.  We  were  almost  overcome 
by  somnolence. 

'  I  believe,"  said  Sonia,  yawning,  "  that  I 
prefer  doing  penance  on  the  rubble  quads  of 
Cambridge  or  galloping  'round  the  Norman 
keep  at  Guildford  at  full  speed  to  this  en- 
forced idleness  when  we  are  so  eager  to  catch 
a  train.  We  must  not  miss  the  reception  at 
Dorchester  House! " 

A  man  who  was  gallantly  pulling  a  rowing 
boat  up  the  rollers  at  the  side  of  the  lock  for 
his  feminine  companion  lost  his  footing  and 
slid  backward;  and  everybody  on  the  steamer 
laughed  inconsiderately.  The  lock-keeper's 
house  is  ivy  covered,  and  the  window  sills  evi- 
dently afford  insufficient  space  for  decoration, 


202     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

wherefore  dozens  of  pots  of  geranium  were 
cunningly  disposed  in  the  strong  stems  of  the 
vine. 

"  My  next  Dorothy  Perkinses  will  be  plant- 
ed so  they  can  climb  among  shrubbery,"  af- 
firmed Diana.  "  Do  you  see  how  effective 
these  are? " 

Beautiful  Formosa  Island,  whereon  nestles 
a  residence  in  well-kept  grounds,  is  said  to  be 
the  largest  island  in  the  Thames. 

Cliveden  was  once  a  duke's  residence  and 
once  that  of  a  Prince  of  Wales,  but  has  now 
f  alien  (?)  into  the  hands  of  a  much-advertised 
American  millionaire. 

"  He  could  not  have  shown  better  taste  in 
selection  of  a  country  house  location  had  his 
money  been  as  old  as  these  everlasting  hills," 
asserted  Sonia.  '  This  is  superb." 

And  here  was  Boulter's  Lock  again;  but 
not  for  us.  The  steamer  was  subject  to  in- 
definite delay  by  punts  innumerable  that  had 
not  yet  reached  their  home.  We  were  as- 
sisted to  alight  on  the  wall  supporting  the 
riverside  driveway.  Our  bags  were  handed  to 
us,  and  a  cab  that  happened  to  be  waiting 
bore  us  to  the  station  just  in  time  to  catch  a 
London  train  not  so  late  as  to  prevent  our 
presence  at  the  embassy. 


Epping  Forest,  Waliham  Abbey,  Waliham 
Cross,  and  Temple  Bar 

SONIA  had  made  a  discovery.  There  is  a 
forest  within  a  very  few  miles  of  London. 

Arden  and  Sherwood  had  been  vaguely  for- 
mulated hopes;  but  now — Ho!  for  the  Forest 
of  Epping. 

Hitherto  had  we  seen  but  parks — Bushey 
or  Battersea.  The  mere  word  forest,  however, 
thrills  with  outlawry,  romance,  fairies,  and  fire- 
flies. 

At  Chingford  station  were  char-a-bancs 
whose  drivers  bawled  the  intelligence  that  six- 
pence secured  a  "  return  drive "  to  High 
Beach.  Diana  spoke  to  a  smiling  bobby. 

"  About  ten  shillings,  I  think,  miss,  to  Wal- 
tham  Cross.  A  shilling  a  mile  is  the  usual 
price."  The  cabman  who  had  offered  to  take 

203 


204     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

us  for  this  sum  was  hailed.  Scarcely  had  we 
raised  our  sunshades  ere  he  halted  before  a 
pleasant  hotel  and,  indicating  a  small  cottage 
adjoining  it,  informed  us  that  we  "  wanted  " 
to  see  it. 

"  Queen  Elizabeth's  Hunting  Lodge,"  he 
vouchsafed ;  and  the  magic  words  dispelled  any 
lingering  hesitancy.  We  saw  it  to  be  a  tim- 
bered building  with  thatched  roof,  recently  re- 
stored, we  learned. 

A  toothless  woman,  middle  aged  and  adi- 
pose, whom  heaven  had  designed  for  a  taker 
of  toll — they  are  so  singularly  alike — received 
of  us  each  threepence  and  a  signature  in  her 
(greasy)  visitors'  book  before  permitting  us 
to  ascend  the  spiral  stairway  solidly  built  of 
that  strong  heart  of  oak  so  freely  used  in 
Tudor  times.  Up  this  very  stair  did  the  merry 
queen  ride  her  favorite  hunter  all  the  way 
to  the  banqueting  hall  on  the  third  story.  The 
house  is  now  used  as  a  museum  for  collections 
of  minerals,  flora,  and  so  forth  of  Epping 
Forest.  We  but  glanced  at  the  cases,  so 
greatly  were  we  interested  in  the  charming  old 
rooms  with  their  great  fire-places,  their  tapes- 
tries, and  the  leaded  casements  from  which 
the  queen  had  often  looked  out  upon  her 
hawkers  making  ready  for  the  chase  three 
hundred  years  ago.  The  banqueting  hall  has 


Epping  Forest  205 

a  timbered  gable  roof.  In  this  room  con- 
vened the  dread  Forest  Court  that  by  a  cruel 
travesty  of  justice  determined  many  a  human 
fate. 

Since  biblical  days,  and  perhaps  earlier, 
royalty  has  ever  usurped  unto  itself  all  forest 
rights — and  wrongs.  Essex  Forest,  which 
once  extended  beyond  Colchester  and  Cam- 
bridge on  the  north  and  all  the  way  south  to 
the  Thames,  had  its  "  Code  "  long  before  Wil- 
liam of  Normandy  came;  but  what  it  had  lost 
in  rigorous  enforcement  under  the  Confessor 
and  Harold  was  regained  under  the  Conquer- 
or's iron  hand.  The  original  idea  of  forest 
law  was  the  protecting  of  deer  that  royalty 
would  stalk.  The  forest  was  so  protected  that 
the  people  were  heavily  taxed  to  supply  the 
royal  coffers.  The  people  had  certain  "  privi- 
leges " :  right  of  way  through  the  forest  trails 
was  one.  But  woe  to  the  vassal  who  bore  a 
bow!  The  right  of  lopping  the  trees  for  fire- 
wood was  another ;  but  if  while  trudging  home- 
ward with  a  bundle  of  fagots  a  man's  heart 
were  pierced  by  an  arrow  intended  for  some 
fat  buck — what  mattered  the  loss  of  a  human 
life  as  against  the  royal  chagrin  at  having 
missed  his  quarry?  When  the  churl  infringed 
upon  his  scanty  privileges  and  snared  a  rab- 
bit, the  authorities  assembled  in  Queen  Eliza- 


206     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

beth's  Hunting  Lodge,  or  its  predecessor  or- 
dained that  his  hands  or  ears  be  "  lopped," 
or  his  eyes  cut  out,  all  in  the  queen's  or 
king's  name.  Often  the  penalty  was  death. 
To  the  poor  little  dog  who  had  pointed  so 
skillfully  for  his  humble  master,  "  justice " 
was  also  administered  in  the  cutting  off  of 
his  paws. 

Thanks  to  the  lion-hearted  Richard,  who 
loved  his  forests  and  was  not  unwilling  to  be- 
friend his  people  when  knowledge  of  their 
needs  was  brought  to  him — what  little  while 
he  was  in  England  —  the  cruel  code  was 
amended  somewhat;  but  he  needed  funds  for 
the  pleasure  trip  mistakenly  called  crusade 
and  sold  some  of  the  forest  lands  to  his  bar- 
ons, who  inclosed  each  his  own  acres  and  thus 
made  of  them  a  park. 

The  tiny,  yet  grim  toy  house  of  the  whim- 
sical Elizabeth  was  soon  left  behind  as  we 
rolled  along  the  dusty  road  toward  Connaught 
Water. 

"  Dust? "  say  you  who  know  more  of  mud 
and  mackintoshes  in  England.  Aye,  dust  in- 
deed— eke  drought.  Only  a  brief  shower  or 
so  had  there  been  in  two  months.  The  sky 
was  as  boldly  blue  as  that  of  America,  the  sun 
as  hot ;  and  the  roadsides  were  as  whitely  pow- 
dered. The  superb  emerald  of  many  a  closely 


Epping  Forest  207 

cropped  lawn  was  burned  to  ochre;  and  our 
parasols  afforded  insufficient  shelter. 

"  How  refreshing  the  cool  forest  glades 
will  be!"  murmured  Sonia  hopefully.  At 
length  we  began  to  wonder  where  the  forest 
could  be ;  and  Diana  openly  expressed  a  doubt 
as  to  its  very  existence. 

"  Broad  fields  are  very  nice,  and  so  are  the 
thin  woods  beyond  these  scrub-oaks;  but  I 
came  to  see  a  forest;  I  want  my  forest  and  I 
want  it  now!  Driver!  How  soon  shall  we 
be  in  the  forest? " 

He  pulled  the  reins  far  above  his  shoul- 
ders and  forced  his  steed  out  of  an  incom- 
prehensibly slow  trot  into  a  miraculously  slow 
walk. 

"The — forest?  We've  been  in  the  forest 
since  that  gate  at  the  Hunting  Lodge.  This 
is  the  principal  road."  He  had  gathered 
the  reins  in  one  hand  and  turned  around  on 
the  box  for  a  scornful  look  at  the  young 
woman  who  was  too  stupid  to  know  a  forest 
when  she  saw  one.  Querulously  he  snapped 
his  whip  and  bade  his  steed  "  plep  "  while  we 
looked  at  each  other  in  dismay. 

"  How  could  we  have  expected  to  find  a 

real   forest   so  near   London? "   said   Diana. 

'  The  Tudor  builders  used  all  the  oaks  for 

beams  and  stairways.    Oh,  to  have  lived  a  few 


208     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

centuries  ago — before  cathedrals  were  restored 
and  forests  felled! " 

"  There  must  be  more  than  these  sparse 
woods,"  insisted  Sonia  hopefully.  We  there- 
upon persuaded  our  driver  to  leave  the  main 
road  for  one  that  led  through  a  pleasanter  part 
of  the  woods,  where  tall  bracken  drooped 
gracefully  under  the  trees  and  midsummer 
wild  flowers  were  less  laden  with  dust.  At 
length  we  ascended  a  hill  atop  of  which  our 
semi  horse-power  vehicle  came  to  a  stop  while  a 
circling  whip  emphasized  the  announcement: 

"  This  'ere  is  'Igh  Beach." 

'  There's  no  beech  at  all!  "  exclaimed  Diana, 
misunderstanding.  High  Beach  wre  discov- 
ered to  be  a  plateau  of  considerable  extent, 
whereon  are  England's  inevitable  twain,  a 
tavern  and  a  church.  Our  attention  was  called 
to  the  alleged  view  of  the  Lea  Valley  far 
below;  but  the  noonday  haze  left  much  to 
be  imagined — and  desired.  There  were  re- 
freshment booths  and  a  multitude  of  London 
trippers  who  had  come  in  sixpenny  char-a- 
bancs.  The  inn  is  pleasantly  shaded  by  heavy 
trees.  It  is  here  that  Tennyson  had  been  in- 
spired to  write  the  "  Talking  Oak,"  and  pos- 
sibly also  "  Locksley  Hall."  Before  the  inn 
is  a  semi-invalid  oak  which  Queen  Victoria 
planted  on  May  6,  1882,  by  this  act  "  dedicat- 


Epping  Forest  209 

ing  the  forest  to  the  people,  free  forevermore." 
When  Essex  was  an  unbroken  forest,  the  bat- 
tle-axes of  conquering  hordes — Celt,  Roman, 
Dane,  and  Saxon — seeking  the  defenseless  lit- 
tle straw-thatched,  huddled  towns  of  native 
islanders  blazed  many  a  trail  that  eventually 
became  highway.  Sovereigns  enforced  the 
code  and  took  rich  toll  of  the  peasants.  The 
disafforesting,  which  had  its  real  beginning 
under  John  Sans-terre,  was  continued  under 
subsequent  merry  monarchs,  and  by  1640  the 
Royal  Forest  of  Essex  had  shrunken  many 
thousands  of  acres;  while  "landed"  gentry 
were  becoming  ever  more  numerous.  Accord- 
ing to  the  "  perambulation  "  of  that  year  its 
name  had  been  changed;  the  Royal  Forest  of 
Waltham  it  was  because  the  sixty  thousand 
remaining  acres  were  round  about  this  parish. 
Fifty  years  ago  the  acres  had  dwindled  in 
number  to  six  thousand,  so  royal  had  been  the 
spending  of  this  treasure,  and  so  zealous  had 
Lord  Wardens  been  in  exercising  their  privi- 
leges of  "  grant  "  and — to  speak  arborially — 
of  graft.  To  every  shilling  paid  to  the  crown 
by  the  purchasers  of  forest  lands  the  Lord 
Warden  was  accustomed  to  withhold  for  his 
own  pocket  a  penny.  Again  the  name  was 
changed,  to  become  Epping  Forest  in  dis- 
tinction from  that  portion  of  Essex  Forest 


210     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

near  London,  called  Hainault  Forest — for 
the  family  of  Edward  Ill's  queen — to  be- 
come wholly  detached  from  the  remaining 
upper  portion.  At  length,  there  being  but 
thirty-four  hundred  acres  uninclosed,  the 
Corporation  of  London  "  took  action,"  and 
after  much  litigation,  together  with  delay,  a 
quarter  of  a  million  sterling  was  paid  and  the 
present  forest  was  formally  presented  to  the 
people,  in  token  of  which  Queen  Victoria 
planted  this  oak  tree  on  High  Beach,  on  the 
very  spot  where  the  famous  King's  Oak — as- 
sociated with  the  Saxon  king  Harold — had 
stood,  the  stump  of  which  had  been  removed 
for  the  planting  of  the  Queen's  Oak.  Harold's 
lands  probably  extended  as  far  as  this.  Per- 
haps he  and  his  Edith  of  the  Swan  Neck 
held  tryst  here  beside  Hilda's  altar,  the  sacri- 
ficial fires  of  which  might  have  been  seen  far 
down  the  valley  of  the  Lea.  The  name  of  the 
inn  on  High  Beach  alone  perpetuates  the 
memory  of  the  King's  Oak. 

:<  There's  a  ditch  bank!"  exclaimed  Sonia, 
when  we  were  faring  onward  again,  "  just 
like  the  one  on  my  great-grandfather's  farm 
in  New  England." 

The  ditch  bank  proved  to  be  a  part  of  the 
earthworks  that  Boadicea's  army  had  raised 
as  a  defense  when  Suetonius,  still  smarting 


Epping  Forest  211 

under  his  defeat  by  her  at  Colchester,  where 
seventy  thousand  Romans  had  been  slain,  at- 
tacked her  untrained  Iceni  at  these  Ambres- 
bury  Banks  and  stilled  forever  eighty  thou- 
sand hearts  of  the  foe.  Sitting  on  the  grassy 
mound  in  the  shade  of  thickly  clustering  trees, 
we  pictured  the  scene,  thinking  chiefly  of  the 
brave  Iceni  women,  who  seemed  pluckier  than 
their  lords  and  stationed  their  chariots  about 
the  battle  field  to  watch  the  fray  and  urge  the 
fighters  to  greater  endeavor.  Alas!  that  their 
superbly  courageous  queen  must  be  overcome 
and  captured  by  the  Romans,  whom  she  so 
bitterly  and  righteously  hated.  Some  chron- 
iclers say  she  was  borne  to  Rome,  where  she 
died  in  captivity;  others  that  she  died  in  Eng- 
land of  poison  self -administered  rather  than 
submit  to  the  will  of  her  conquerors.  Certain 
iconoclastic  learned  folk  have  "  decided  "  that 
the  Ambresbury  Banks  were  not  the  scene 
of  this  battle;  but  they  fail  to  decide  in  favor 
of  a  more  likely  place. 

Now  at  last  was  our  longing  for  a  "  real " 
forest  gratified.  Green  rides  shaded  by 
mighty  trees  stretched  into  the  infinite  and 
enticing  beyond;  under  the  trees  bracken — as 
tall  as  a  man — ferns  and  mosses  triumphed! 
In  the  open  spaces  wild  roses  grew  so  pro- 
fusely that  the  wondrous  climbers  and  tree 


212     W ays  and  Days  Out  of  London 

roses  at  Kew  seemed  crudely  artificial.  Na- 
ture's untended  garden  is  best.  How  the  fair- 
ies must  revel  here  in  dewy  moonlight!  and 
how  sadly  must  dryads  and  fauns  have  passed 
away  when  none  believed  in  their  presence! 

Sonia  became  rapturous  over  the  blended 
perfumes  of  bracken,  rose,  and  pine  in  the  hot 
sun,  and  called  it  "  heavenly."  Where  shad- 
ows at  noontide  spread  twilight  under  the 
mighty  branches  we  knew  John  Amend- All 
must  be  lurking,  ready  to  speed  an  arrow  into 
the  heart  of  an  enemy.  We  bade  our  driver 
await  us  a  half  mile  or  so  down  the  road  toward 
Epping  while  we  loitered  in  the  cool  glades 
of  Epping  Thicks,  compensated  a  hundred- 
fold for  our  previous  disappointment. 

'  When  we  were  at  Windsor,"  Sonia  said, 
"  I  tried  to  recall  the  story  of  Henry  VIII 
watching  from  Caesar's  Tower  for  the  signal 
of  Anne  Bullen's  death.  I  remember  now; 
it  was  a  disloyal  butcher  whose  death  occurred 
then;  and  when  poor  Anne  was  being  exe- 
cuted the  king  was  in  Essex  Forest,  near 
Windsor,  waiting  for  the  firing  of  a  gun  to 
announce  the  end.  When  it  was  heard  he 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  exclaimed :  '  The 
business  is  done.  Uncouple  the  dogs  and  let 
us  follow  the  sport.'  Bluff  King  Hal!" 

When  Robin  of  Huntingdon  ruled  o'er  the 


Epping  Forest  213 

highways  in  Sherwood  Forest  and  Jerry  Aver- 
shawe  brandished  holsters  on  Hounslow 
Heath,  Dick  Turpin  was  the  terror  of  Wal- 
tham  Waste.  But  for  Harrison  Ainsworth's 
sentimentalizing,  however,  in  "  Rookwood," 
Dick  Turpin  had  been  as  little  known  to  us 
as  his  confederates,  particularly  Tom  King, 
whom  Turpin  shot  by  accident.  Turpin  was 
a  cattle  thief  and  lawless  house  breaker,  espe- 
cially where  women  were  alone  and  unpro- 
tected, quite  as  truly  as  he  was  "  gentleman 
of  the  road."  A  band  of  highwaymen,  known 
as  the  Waltham  Blacks,  terrorized  the  travel- 
ers on  these  lonely  forest  roads  ere  such  splen- 
did creatures  as  bobbies  existed  to  hale  them 
to  Scotland  Yard. 

Before  coming  to  the  town  of  Epping  a 
little  inn  is  called  Dick  Turpin's  Cave.  Near 
by  is  a  small  cave  where  Turpin  concealed 
himself  and  his  plunder.  The  innkeeper  treas- 
ures a  cutlass  and  pistol  together  with  a  pair 
of  spurs  alleged  to  have  been  Turpin's. 

The  little  town  of  Epping  was  famous  as 
a  posting  station  on  the  Cambridge  Road  in 
ante-railway  days;  and  no  less  was  the  fame 
of  Epping  butter  and  Epping  pork  when  the 
county  came  to  market.  Now  it  is  a  quiet 
little  town  whose  ribbon-like  High  Street  is 
its  sole  thoroughfare. 


214     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

When  we  mildly  reproached  our  driver  for 
taking  us  to  the  Cock's  unsatisfactory  lunch- 
eon, for  which  we  had  been  overcharged,  he 
tactfully  accepted  our  point  of  view  and  said 
he  had  not  been  offered  his  customary  pint  of 
ale.  Diana  ignored  his  hint  and  bade  him 
drive  on  to  Waltham. 

The  distance,  two  miles,  was  protracted  by 
the  extraordinary  inability  of  our  steed  to 
"  drive."  He  took  a  great  many  steps ;  but 
the  result  seemed  to  be  vertical  rather  than 
horizontal,  like  the  violent  throbbing  of  a 
motor  car  before  the  clutch  is  thrown. 

"It  is  what  my  grandfather  would  have 
called  '  trotting  in  a  peck  measure/  "  Sonia 
said.  There  was  no  hurry,  however,  for  the 
scent  of  newly  cut  hay  and  of  potato  blossoms, 
the  midsummer  beauty  everywhere,  soothed 
our  impatience  to  arrive.  A  windmill's  idle 
sails  stood  against  the  unclouded  blue. 

The  Lea  is  one  of  those  absurdly  small  riv- 
ers, omnipresent  in  England,  which  wind  and 
curve  as  winsomely  through  shady  banks  as 
e'er  the  tresses  of  a  maid  about  a  lover's  heart. 
Old  Izaac's  favorite  stream  is  still  the  bourne 
of  anglers.  One  "  compleat "  specimen  we 
saw — the  inevitable  boy  with  primitive  tackle 
and  infinite  patience. 

Waltham  Abbey  is  but  a  fragment  of  that 


Epping  Forest  215 

in  which  Harold  prayed  on  the  eve  of  Hast- 
ings while  Edith  watched  him  from  the  shadow 
of  one  of  its  mighty  piers.  Its  few  remaining 
Norman  bays  are  noble  specimens  of  the  no- 
blest architectural  era  England  has  experi- 
enced. These  stones  were  tooled  in  genuine 
devoutness  and  love  of  work  for  the  work's 
sake;  beauty  being  an  exigeant  result.  When 
the  zigzag  ornamentation  on  the  arches  and 
columns  was  inlaid  with  brass,  no  wonder  the 
looters  of  "  reformation  "  times  coveted  and 
carried  it  away  together  with  the  lead  roof! 

Waltham  spells  Harold,  stalwart  son  of 
Godwine  and  the  last  of  England's  Saxon 
kings.  No  chapter  in  all  of  England's  stir- 
ring story  is  at  once  so  thrilling  or  so  fateful 
as  that  of  Harold's  brief  career.  His  brother- 
in-law,  Edward  the  Confessor,  a  large  land- 
owner in  Essex  Forest,  gave  to  Harold,  then 
earl,  the  Saxon  town  of  Wealdham  (woody 
town)  on  the  River  Lea,  now  the  boundary 
between  Hertfordshire  and  Essex;  the  river 
that  is  "  seven  times  parted  from  itself."  These 
lands  included  a  vast  forest  tract.  The  town 
had  first  been  settled  by  Tovy — or  Tofig — a 
standard  bearer  of  Knut,  who  wanted  a  home 
near  his  shooting.  Only  threescore  and  six 
dwellers,  by  his  wish,  constituted  the  town  in 
his  day.  Tovy  also  established  here  a  small 


216    Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

church,  which  was  rebuilt  by  Harold  when  he 
became  its  possessor.  Perhaps  his  rich  en- 
dowment thereof  consisted  chiefly  of  the  loot 
he  had  brought  from  an  attack  on  Wells, 
whose  cathedral  he  pillaged.  He  made  the 
foundation  educational  rather  than  monastic, 
its  incumbents  being  chiefly  clerks  and  lay 
priests,  of  whom  he  created  a  chapter,  consist- 
ing of  a  dean,  twelve  canons,  and  a  few  minor 
officers.  The  church  was  dedicated  by  him 
in  1060,  one  Adelard  having  been  brought 
from  France  to  be  its  first  chancellor.  Some 
say  Adelard  was  a  physician  summoned  to 
cure  Harold  of  paralysis,  and  that  the  cure 
was  effected,  at  Adelard's  suggestion,  by  the 
miraculous  rood  which  had  been  brought  dur- 
ing Knut's  reign  from  Montacute  in  Somer- 
set by  Tofig  the  Proud.  It  is  difficult  to  asso- 
ciate paralysis  with  the  slayer  of  Hardrada. 

The  rood  appears  again  in  Harold's  story. 
Before  the  battle  "  at  the  hoar  apple  tree,'* 
a  nameless  field  near  Hastings,  that  the  Nor- 
mans subsequently  called  Sanguelac — Harold 
came,  as  has  been  said,  into  his  church  to  watch 
and  pray  while  his  soldiers  were  carousing 
near  by.  As  he  knelt  before  the  rood  the  head 
of  the  Crucified  was  seen  to  bend  forward — a 
token  of  calamity  to  the  suppliant  monarch. 
When  the  battle  was  done  and  the  body  of 


Epping  Forest  217 

England's  king  had  been  so  hacked  that  none 
but  his  beloved  Edith  could  recognize  it,  and 
she  only  by  her  name  tatooed  on  his  breast, 
permission  was  sought  for  the  burying  of  Har- 
old in  his  church.  This  was  granted  by  the 
Conqueror;  but  none  knows  what  became  of 
Harold's  body.  The  great  stone  sarcophagus 
that  was  made  for  it  stood  for  hundreds  of 
years  before  the  altar,  and  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury the  monks  opened  it.  A  few  bones  they 
saw,  which  fell  into  dust  upon  contact  with 
the  outer  air.  A  legend  hath  it  that  the  Con- 
queror caused  the  body  of  the  defeated  king  to 
be  buried  on  the  channel  coast  near  Pevensey, 
where  had  landed  the  Normans  to  conquer  the 
kingdom  so  bravely  defended  by  the  Saxon 
monarch.  Other  tales  aver  that  when  the 
arrow  which  blinded  Harold  toward  the  close 
of  that  dreadful  day  also  felled  him,  he  lay 
as  though  dead  until  Edith  found  him,  pulled 
out  the  arrow,  and  escaped  with  him  to  Ches- 
ter. 

The  fragmentary  west  end  of  the  abbey 
church  and  the  Lady  Chapel  alone  remain 
to  hint  of  the  splendor  of  the  whole. 

"  Have  you  seen  St.  Bartholomew's  the 
Great  in  London?"  asked  the  young  woman 
in  custody.  "  It  is  said  to  be  the  other  half  of 
Waltham  Abbey." 


218     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

In  fancy  we  looked  beyond  the  filled  in  and 
rose-windowed  east  end  of  Waltham  Abbey 
and  saw  the  splendid  apsidal  curve  of  St. 
Bartholomew's  complementing  these  sturdy 
side  walls. 

Until  we  ignorantly  sought  among  the 
churchyard  tombs  some  trace  of  Harold's 
(never-located)  monument,  we  had  not  real- 
ized the  abbey's  once  vast  length.  Our  grop- 
ings,  however,  were  indirectly  the  means  of 
the  day's  most  delightful  discovery — the  old 
Monastery  Gateway  with  its  bridge  across  the 
Lea. 

As  we  turned  away  from  the  beautiful  Elea- 
nor Cross,  about  which  a  village  called  Wal- 
tham Cross  clusters,  we  inclined  toward  tea  at 
the  Four  Swans  whose  sign  spans  the  road; 
but  the  slovenly  appearance  of  a  stupid 
"  boots "  and  serving  maid  diminished  our 
appetite  for  this  inn's  further  acquaintance. 
A  pastry  shop  beyond  the  cross,  where  greasy 
townsfolk  were  partaking  of  the  cheerful  cup 
amid  flies,  dust,  and  sunbeams,  was  worse. 
We  tried  a  third  direction,  and  found  what 
we  needed  in  a  clean  and  fragrant  dairy.  Re- 
stored again  to  vigor  we  inquired  of  the  rosy 
lass  who  presided  over  the  great  blue-and- 
white  bowl  of  milk  and  the  butter  crock  on 


o 
S 

e 

%^ 

&q 

"s 


Epping  Forest  219 

the  marble  counter  the  way  to  the  Temple 
Bar.  Our  driver,  whose  ten  shillings  had  ter- 
minated at  the  cross,  told  us  it  was  but  a  bit 
of  a  walk.  Somebody  else  put  the  distance 
at  two  miles.  The  dairy  maid  estimated  it 
at  half  a  mile. 

Having  promised  to  see  Coppelia  in  the 
evening  at  the  Empire,  the  five-forty  train  for 
London  was  the  latest  we  could  take.  Being 
therefore  hurried,  we  inevitably  lost  our  way, 
but  were  rescued  by  the  omnipresent  whistling 
boy,  who  saw  us  safely  started  within  the 
gates  of  Theobald's  Park,  which  is  pronounced 
*  Tibbies."  He  said  the  bar  was  "  stright  on 
at  the  bottom  of  the  road."  At  any  other  time 
we  should  have  loitered  along  this  shady  drive- 
way in  a  private  park  that  had  once  belonged 
to  Cardinal  Wolsey  and  later  to  Richard 
Cromwell  and  James  I,  and  is  now  owned  by 
a  titled  somebody;  but  London  was  tugging 
at  us  and  we  must  needs  hasten.  The  road, 
once  a  track  through  Essex  Forest,  no  doubt, 
seemed  to  have  no  "  bottom."  We  became  in- 
credulous, interrogated.  At  length,  only  be- 
cause we  refused  to  be  conquered  by  swift  time 
and  sure  fatigue,  we  found  the  broad  stone 
gate  that  had  spanned  the  Strand  where  now 
the  City  Griffin  stands  with  Queen  Victoria 
and  His  Majesty  Edward  VII,  and  where  the 


220     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Lord  Mayor  is  paramount  over  the  sovereign 
even  unto  this  day,  so  much  so  that  the  king 
must  secure  permission  to  enter  the  city.  Sir 
Christopher  Wren  was  commissioned  to  erect 
the  Temple  Bar  on  the  Strand  about  fifty  years 
before  the  Mayflower  bore  Sonia's  ancestors 
to  Massachusetts.  Statues  of  royalties  adorn 
it.  On  the  heavy  oaken  gates  that  swing  open 
for  her  ladyship's  carriage  were  iron  spikes  in 
the  good  old  days  for  the  display  of  traitors' 
heads.  When  the  weight  of  the  gates  (due  to 
the  number  of  traitors?)  had  been  found  to 
have  weakened  the  arch,  and  the  city  traffic 
had  enormously  increased,  the  bar  was  taken 
down — in  1878.  A  year  later  it  was  erected  in 
Theobald's  Park,  where  its  dignity  is  en- 
hanced by  the  superb  trees  that  remain  of  this 
portion  of  Essex  Forest. 


s 

!i 

8 

a. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace 

A1ONG  the  hordes  of  Americans  who 
dutifully — and,  it  is  hoped,  happily — 
devote  long  hours  to  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  world-renowned  canvases  on  the  walls 
of  the  threefold  Xational  Gallery  in  London, 
few  have  ever  heard  of — much  less  visited — the 
quiet  little  village  of  Dulwich  which  reposes 
but  five  miles  from  St.  Paul's,  and  enshrines  a 
picture  gallery  worthy  a  longer  pilgrimage. 

We  vaguely  remembered  having  heard  of 
this  gallery,  and  had  determined  to  seek  it  on 
a  certain  afternoon  in  early  July.  The  morn- 
ing had  flown  in  the  happy  quest  of  seed 
pearls  and  Georgian  silver,  so  we  lunched 
"  with  "  Peter  Robinson,  as  Sonia  said  of  the 
cozy  little  restaurant  tucked  in  a  corner  of  one 
of  our  favorite  shops.  Chance  directed  that 
Miranda  and  her  ladyship  entered  the  restau- 

221 


222     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

rant  as  we  were  leaving  it.  Upon  learning 
our  plan  they  passed  a  viva-voce  vote  that  we 
should  meet  them  at  Claude  Hebert's  home  in 
Norwood  for  tea;  and  a  "wire"  was  forth- 
with dispatched  to  Mrs.  Hebert.  Why  cer- 
tainly she  would  find  it  convenient.  Had  she 
not  been  urging  them  for  weeks  to  bring  us 
out?  And  this  would  be  the  j oiliest  sort  of 
an  opportunity.  Wherefore  we  hastened 
toward  Victoria  on  a  hay-making  excursion 
into  the  shining  hours  of  early  afternoon. 

It  was  fortunate  that  when  De  la  Wyk,  a 
landowner  in  this  part  of  Surrey  about  the 
time  of  the  conquest,  established  a  village  on 
his  estate,  the  great  highway  to  London  was 
not  its  chosen  locality — fortunate  for  those  who 
like  to  find  rustic  oases  in  the  aridity  of  mod- 
ern townful  and  city-spread  territory  that, 
even  in  the  Old  World,  is  swiftly  effacing  the 
last  traces  of  a  picturesque  past.  To  the  Clu- 
niac  Priory  at  Bermondsey  the  manor  and 
lands  of  De  la  Wyk  were  royally  bestowed  by 
Henry  I,  who  thus  exercised  the  "  divine  right 
of  kings  "  by  pilfering  from  Peter  in  order  to 
propitiate  Paul.  Gradually  the  name  of  the 
former  owner  of  the  estate — for  some  things 
cannot  perish — became  softened  to  Dilwysshe, 
and  as  Dulwich  still  lives.  Happy  must  this 
priory  have  been,  for  almost  nothing  of  its 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         223 

history  is  known.  No  Friar  Thomas,  no 
Roger  of  Wendover  was  here  to  record  the 
deeds  of  monks  and  men.  Some  little  talk 
there  was  of  a  convent  at  Halliwell  whose  pri- 
oress in  1245  compelled  Bermondsey's  prior 
to  an  agreement  regarding  the  tithes  in  "  Est- 
Dilewich,"  which  had  been  converted  from 
woodland  into  "  tilth  " ;  by  which  agreement 
the  convent  won  advantage.  Bermondsey 
Priory  became  an  abbey,  which  in  1539 
yielded  to  the  protestant  axe  of  Henry  VIII ; 
but  rather  than  await  the  inevitable  blow  upon 
the  abbey's  massy  doors  the  astute  abbot  vol- 
untarily surrendered  his  domains  to  the  crown, 
thereby  obtaining  for  himself  a  pension  of 
three  hundred  and  thirty-three  pounds  an- 
nually. Merry  Hal  sold  the  abbey  together 
with  Dulwich  manor  and  lands  to  one  Thomas 
Calton,  a  goldsmith,  wThose  grandson,  Sir 
Francis  Calton — a  youth  from  whom  money 
was  soon  parted — mortgaged  a  portion  of  the 
Dulwich  estate  in  1602  to  one  Sir  Robert  Lee, 
who  was  not  a  Confederate  general,  but  Lord 
Mayor  of  London. 

In  the  days  of  Elizabeth  and  James  I,  a 
pleasure  that  had  previously  been  proscribed 
in  England  began  to  permitted.  One  Edward 
Alley n,  an  actor,  made  so  bold  as  to  erect  on 
the  Bankside — a  quiet  bit  of  Thames  bank 


224     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

opposite  the  most  populous  part  of  the  city— 
a  playhouse,  the  Rose  Theater,  wherein  he 
acted  Lier,  Romeo,  the  Moore  of  Fenis,  Ba- 
rabbas  in  the  "  The  Rich  Jew  of  Malta,"  and 
in  other  dramas.  The  venture  succeeded  and 
Alleyn's  friend  and  fellow  actor,  William 
Shakspeare,  established  nearby  the  Globe 
Theater.  In  a  few  years  the  Swan  and  Hope 
theaters  were  added,  and  all  London  crossed 
to  the  Bankside  to  be  amused  and  thrilled. 
According  to  Taylor,  the  "  Water  Poet,"  the 
watermen  employed  in  ferrying  the  folk  across 
at  fourpence  per  capita  numbered  forty  thou- 
sand. 

Diana  did  some  figuring.  "  Allowing  five 
passengers  to  each  ferryman,"  she  said,  "  and 
considering  how  many  of  London's  present 
theaters  would  be  requisite  to  seat  two  hun- 
dred thousand  people,  it  is  only  fair  to  sup- 
pose that  Taylor  was  a  strong-water  poet 
whose  license,  poetic  and  alcoholic,  exceeded 
even  the  elastic  bounds  of  his  profession." 

Certain  it  is,  however,  that  the  queen  had 
her  state  barge  for  crossing  from  Queenhythe 
to  the  Bankside,  which  boasted  "  two  splendid 
cabins  beautifully  ornamented  with  glass  win- 
dows, painting,  and  gilding."  This  barge  is 
believed  to  have  been  bought  after  her  death 
by  Alleyn,  who  caused  a  stately  mantel  to  be 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         225 

made  of  it ;  and  this  mantel  may  be  seen  to-day 
in  the  library  of  Dulwich  College.  How  came 
this  to  pass?  Listen  and  learn! 

"  Edward  Allin,"  says  Fuller,  in  his 
'  Worthies  of  England,"  "  was  bred  a  stage 
player,  a  calling  which  many  have  condemned, 
more  have  questioned  and  some  few  have  ex- 
cused, and  far  fewer  conscientious  people  have 
commended.  He  was  the  Roscius  of  our  age, 
so  acting  to  the  life  that  he  made  any  part, 
particularly  a  majestic  one,  to  become  him. 
He  got  a  very  great  estate,  and  in  his  old  age, 
following  Christ's  counsel — he  made  friends  of 
his  '  unrighteous  mammon,'  building  therewith 
a  fair  college  at  Dulwich — for  the  relief  of 
poor  people." 

The  sacred  counsel  to  which  Fuller  refers 
is  probably  the  reputed  appearance  on  the 
stage  of  the  devil  in  person  while  Alleyn  was 
playing  Faustus. 

In  every  great  awakening  of  the  world  the 
light  of  one  great  personality  more  or  less 
dims  others  of  exceptional  brilliance  and  force. 
In  his  day  Edward  Alleyn  was  more  talked  of 
than  was  William  Shakspeare;  but  now  his 
fame  is  faded  in  the  strong  ray  of  Shak- 
speare's  glory. 

Nash,  in  "  Pierce  Pennyless,  his  Supplica- 
tion to  the  Devil,"  says  of  Alleyii:  "  Not 


226     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Roscius,  nor  ^Esope,  those  tragedians  admyred 
before  Christ  was  borne,  could  ever  perform 
more  in  action  than  famous  Ned  Alleyn." 

Dekker,  too,  speaks  well  of  him,  especially 
of  his  "  well-tunde  voice."  Others  of  his  con- 
temporaries extol  his  skill ;  most  noteworthy  of 
such  expressions  is  Ben  Jonson's  epigram: 

To 

EDWARD    ALLEN. 

If  Rome  so  great  and  in  her  wisest  age 
Fear'd  not  to  boast  the  glories  of  her  stage, 
As  skillful  Roscius  and  grave  Aesop,  men, 
Yet  crown'd  with  honours,  as  with  riches,  then; 
Who  had  no  lesse  a  trumpet  of  their  name, 
Than  Cicero,  whose  every  breath  was  fame: 
How  can  so  great  example  dye  in  mee, 
That,  ALLEN  I  should  pause  to  publish  thee? 
Who  both  their  graces  in  thyself  hast  more 
Out-stript,  than  they  did  all  that  went  before: 
And  present  worth  in  all  dost  so  contract, 
As  others  speake  but  only  thou  dost  act. 
Weare  this  renoune.     'Tis  just,  that  who  did  give 
So  many  poets  life,  by  one  should  live. 

In  the  zenith  of  his  career  as  an  actor,  as 
manager  and  owner  of  the  Rose  Theater,  of 
the  Paris  Garden — for  bull-and-bear  baiting 
—and  of  the  Fortune  Theater,  Alleyn  retired 
from  public  life  to  become  a  landowner, 
farmer  and  philanthropist.  About  the  time 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         227 

Sir  Francis  Calton's  tailor  was  sewing  up  the 
holes  that  departed  pounds  had  burned  in  that 
gentleman's  pockets,  in  preparation  for  the 
reception  of  sums  about  to  be  advanced  by 
Sir  Robert  Lee  on  Calton's  estate  at  Dul- 
wich, Edward  Alleyn  began  to  look  for  land 
to  buy.  The  Lord  Mayor  was  glad  to  have 
the  mortgage  redeemed,  and  the  great  actor 
made  his  first  purchase  of  an  estate  which  ulti- 
mately comprised  thirteen  hundred  acres  and 
extended  from  the  crest  of  Sydenham  Hill  to 
that  of  Herne  Hill,  three  miles  nearer  Lon- 
don. He  had  long  dreamed  of  establishing 
a  "  hospital  "  for  the  poor  of  the  four  parishes 
in  London,  which  partly  furnished  his  for- 
tune, by  inheritance  and  by  marriage.  His 
birth  had  occurred  in  that  of  St.  Botolph's 
without  Bishopsgate,  two  years  after  the  Bard 
of  Avon's  voice  was  first  "  heard  to  roar  "  in 
Stratford.  Alleyn's  marriage  with  Joan 
Woodward  being  childless  after  twenty  years, 
he  began  "  playing  the  last  act  of  his  life  so 
well "  as  to  gain  honor  and  further  fame. 
Living  at  Dulwich  Manor,  and  still  making 
occasional  visits  to  the  court  at  Greenwich, 
Windsor,  or  Whitehall  in  his  capacity  as 
"  Master  of  the  King's  Games  of  Beares, 
Bulls,  and  Dogges,"  he  resigned  all  his  pro- 
fessional successes  and  interests. 


228 

Because  Inigo  Jones  was  present  at  the 
dedicatory  exercises  of  the  College  of  God's 
Gift,  as  Alleyn's  foundation  was  called,  it  was 
thought  by  many  that  he  was  its  architect. 
If  so  he  committed  ignoble  errors  in  construc- 
tion, for  Alleyn  spent  large  sums  on  repairs 
during  his  lifetime,  and  the  tower  was  so  in- 
secure that  it  fell  twenty  years  after  it  was 
built.  Probably  Benson,  the  builder  employed 
by  Alleyn,  drafted  the  "  plotte."  It  seems 
naive  that  in  order  to  provide  funds  for  the 
tower's  restoration  the  fellows  were  deprived 
of  salary  pro  tern.  The  College  of  God's 
Gift  was  begun  in  1613,  and  completed  four 
years  later.  Still  longer,  however,  was  de- 
layed the  charter  of  incorporation,  "  for  set- 
ting his  lands  in  mortmain,"  for  Chancellor 
Bacon  endeavored  by  star  chamber  finesse  to 
divert  Alleyn's  gift  to  the  establishing  of  lec- 
tureships at  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  Alleyn's 
letters  patent  were  nevertheless  issued  in  June, 
1619.  The  purpose  of  his  gift  appears  to 
have  been  double:  almshouses  for  the  aged 
and  for  youth  a  college  which  should  gra- 
tuitously educate  a  certain  number  of  impe- 
cunious boys.  These  beneficiaries  were  to  be 
chiefly  selected  from  the  four  parishes  in  Lon- 
don previously  referred  to — St.  Giles,  Cam- 
berwell;  St.  Botolph,  without  Bishopsgate; 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         229 

St.  Savior's,  Southwark,  and  "  that  part  of 
St.  Giles's  without  Cripplegate  which  is  in  the 
county  of  Middlesex."  The  original  letters 
patent  specified  "  six  poor  old  brethren,  six 
poor  sisters,  and  twelve  poor  schollers." 

"  Xice  of  him,"  said  Sonia,  "  not  to  call  the 
sisters  old." 

With  ceremony  and  sermon  the  College  of 
God's  Gift  was  dedicated  in  September,  1619, 
Lord  Chancellor  Bacon,  Lord  Arundell,  Inigo 
Jones,  and  certain  other  celebrities  among  the 
invited  guests.  Later,  Alleyn  wished  to  ex- 
tend the  gratuities  of  his  foundation,  and 
shortly  before  his  death,  which  occurred  in 
1626,  drew  up  statutes  ordaining  that  in  addi- 
tion to  the  original  twelve  poor  "  schollers," 
who  were  "  to  pay  such  allowance  as  the  mas- 
ter and  wardens  shall  appoint,"  there  were  to 
be  six  chanters  for  singing  in  chapel  and 
teaching  music.  This  amendment  to  the  origi- 
nal foundation  was  proved  to  be  illegal  and 
his  wishes  were  disregarded.  For  more  than 
two  hundred  years  the  beneficiaries  of  the 
school  were  restricted  to  the  original  twelve 
boys. 

The  founder  tied  a  string  to  his  gift,  which 
was  largely  responsible  for  the  slipshod  way  in 
which  the  institution  was  managed,  and  which 
inevitably  bred  discontent  and  dissatisfaction; 


230     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

he  required  that  master  and  warden  of  the 
college  be  always  Alleyns.  Whereby  he  over- 
looked the  probability  that  the  name  was  less 
essential  to  the  welfare  of  the  college  than 
the  capability  of  master  and  warden.  Until 
1858  the  name  of  Allen  obtained,  but  by  that 
time  the  entire  foundation  stood  in  need  of 
reconstitution ;  so  the  Court  of  Chancery  took 
the  matter  in  hand.  Edward  Alleyn  had  left 
regulations  for  salaries  and  maintenance  of 
the  master,  warden,  and  four  fellows  (preach- 
er, master  of  the  school,  usher,  and  organist), 
also  for  the  diet  and  clothing  of  the  pension- 
ers. He  wrote  out  rules  for  management  of 
the  estate,  servants,  subjects  of  instruction  in 
the  school  and  hours  for  service  in  the  chapel. 
The  master  was  to  be  chief  ruler  in  Dulwich 
village,  the  warden  collector  of  rents. 

A  certain  James  Alleyn,  who  was  chosen 
warden  in  1712,  and  became  master  nine  years 
later,  was  a  benefactor  to  the  village.  He  es- 
tablished a  charity  school  to  teach  "  poor  boys 
to  read,  and  poor  girls  to  read  and  sew."  In 
1877  this  was  restricted  by  Act  of  Parliament 
or  Chancery  to  girls,  and  is  now  known  as 
"  James  Allen's  Girls'  School." 

Edward  Alleyn  refrained  from  active  mem- 
bership in  his  college,  although  a  fat  memo- 
randum-diary is  still  preserved  there  in  which 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         231 

he  recorded  his  intimate  interest  in  its  daily 
life.     He  engaged  the  boys  in  theatrical  per- 
formances, and  in  January,  1622,  he  says: 
'  The  boyes  play'd  a  playe." 

The  present  buildings  of  the  college  are  ex- 
ceedingly modern  and  not  conspicuously  peri- 
odic, although  the  style  is  declared  to  be  Ital- 
ian Renaissance.  They  might  indeed  be  any 
one  of  the  numerous  red-brick  state  normals 
in  the  transatlantic  child  of  Mother  England. 
A  host  of  white-flanneled  students  was  play- 
ing tennis  on  the  broad  lawns  in  front  of  the 
college  as  we  approached.  These  buildings 
are  nearly  half  a  mile  distant  from  the  old 
college.  They  were  erected  in  1870,  and  for- 
mally opened  by  the  Prince  of  Wales.  The 
great  hall  is  cleverly  patterned  after  the  lofty 
old  style  of  the  Tudors,  and  is  a  close  second 
to  the  finest  in  Oxford  or  Cambridge. 

Many  portraits  of  Alleyns  and  others  hang 
in  the  college.  Under  one  of  James  Allen, 
he  of  the  Girls'  School,  is  an  inscription  to  the 
effect  that  he  was  "  six  feet  High,  Skilful  as 
a  Skaiter,  a  Jumper,  ATHLETIC,  and  humane." 
Romney  was  the  portrayer  of  his  successor, 
Joseph  Allen,  M.D. 

Some  anecdotes  of  the  Rev.  Ozias  Thurston 
Linley,  whose  portrait  also  hangs  in  the  col- 
lege, caught  our  fancy.  He  was  chosen  organ- 


232     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ist  in  1816.  While  giving  instruction  in  music 
—which  had  been  well  taught  him  by  his  gifted 
father  at  Bath — he  displayed  what  some  would 
call  the  "  temperament  artistic."  When  he 
was  not  twisting  his  snuffbox  rapidly  between 
his  fingers  he  was  pulling  his  wig  awry,  and  as 
often  as  not  it  was  hindside  foremost,  and  his 
bald  pate  gleaming  in  the  gap.  In  the  dining 
hall,  too,  seeking  in  his  own  chaotic  way  to 
restore  order  among  the  boys,  he  would  pound 
upon  the  table  till  he  "  put  the  glasses  and 
decanters  in  serious  jeopardy."  Like  many 
musicians  and  college  professors,  he  was  af- 
flicted with  absent-mindedness.  Upon  one 
occasion,  going  to  play  somewhere  beyond 
Norwood,  he  set  off  on  horseback,  as  was  his 
custom.  '  '  What  have  I  to  pay? '  said  he,  com- 
ing to  a  turnpike,  whip  in  hand,  with  a  bridle 
trailing  on  the  ground.  '  You  have  naught  to 
pay,  sir,'  replied  the  keeper ;  '  you  have  left 
your  horse  behind  you,  sir.' '  The  horse  had 
stumbled  and  thrown  him;  but  Ozias,  like  the 
soul  of  John  Brown,  went  "  marching  on." 

The  college  has  many  precious  mementoes 
of  Edward  Alleyn  and  of  his  friends  and  fel- 
low players,  Shakspeare,  Marlowe,  Burbage, 
Jonson,  Greene,  Peele,  Bond,  Field,  Sly,  and 
others  of  the  long  list  of  famous  men  of  Eliza- 
bethan times.  The  authorities  of  Dulwich  Col- 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         233 

lege,  albeit  Alleyns,  have  been  monumentally 
reckless  of  many  precious  opportunities.  The 
Alleyniana  that  exist  happen  not  to  have  been 
destroyed.  Chance  alone  has  preserved  them 
for  the  delight  of  those  who  in  our  time  appreci- 
ate such  things  so  fully.  The  lost  and  destroyed 
papers  and  books  far  outbalance  the  few  that 
escaped  oblivion.  David  Garrick  once  ob- 
tained from  the  master  of  the  college  a  num- 
ber of  Elizabethan  manuscripts  and  early  edi- 
tions in  exchange  for  a  parcel  of  new  books! 
Garrick's  bargain  is  happily  preserved  in  the 
British  Museum;  but  how  much  of  equal  or 
greater  value  went  into  the  dustbin? 

In  the  college  library  are  now  treasured 
many  of  Alleyn's  papers.  Letters  to  Joan,  his 
wife,  who  stayed  behind  while  the  plague  raged 
in  London  and  all  the  players  went  "  on  tour," 
begin:  "My  good  sweete  harte  and  loving 
mouse."  Here  is  a  bit  of  the  long  inventory 
of  his  theatrical  apparel: 

CLOKES 

A  Scarlett  cloke  with  ij  brode  gould  laces  with  gould 
buttons  of  the  same  down  the  sids,  for  Leir. 

A  purpell  sattin  welted  with  velvett  and  silver  twist 
Romeos. 

A  long  blak  tafata  cloke. 

A  colored  bugett  for  a  boye. 


234     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

GOWNES 

Hary  the  VIII  gowne. 

A  crimosin  bestrypt  with  gould  fact  with  ermin. 

A  cloth  of  gould  Candish  his  stuf. 

ANTIK   SUTES 

Blew  damask  cote  for  the  Moore  in  Venis. 
Among  the  doublets  &c.,  were 
"  Pryams  hoes  in  Dido." 

Somewhere  (in  the  diary,  I  think)  he  noted 
under  "  howshowld  stuff  "  the  purchase  of  a 
copy  of  Shakspeare's  "  Sonnets "  for  five- 
pence.  In  the  college  library  may  also  be 
seen  one  of  Alleyn's  own  posters: 

To-morrow,  being  Thursdae,  shal  be  seen  at  the 
Bear  Garden  on  the  Bank  Side,  a  great  match  played 
by  the  gamesters  of  Essex,  who  hath  challenged  all 
comers  whatsoever,  to  plaie  five  Dogges  to  the  single 
Beare  for  five  pounds,  and  also  to  wearie  a  Bull  dead 
at  the  stake,  and  for  their  better  content  shall  have 
pleasant  sport  with  the  Horse  and  Ape,  and  whipping 
of  the  Blinded  Beare.  Vivat  Rex. 

"  Shame  on  the  English  that  they  ever  could 
tolerate  such  horrors !  "  Thus  Sonia,  her  face 
twisted  with  the  shuddering  thought. 

''  To  their  credit  rather,  let  us  say,  since  they 
quickly  wearied  of  so  grewsome  a  pastime," 
Diana  pleaded. 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         235 

Even  when  this  sort  of  "  sport "  was  in  its 
heyday  of  popularity  there  were  voices  lifted 
in  protest.  Of  Skelton's  verses  here  is  an  ex- 
cerpt : 

What  folly  is  this  to  keep  with  danger 
A  great  mastive  dog  and  fowle  ouglie  bear, 
And  to  this  end  to  see  them  two  fight 
With  terrible  tearings  a  ful  ouglie  sight. 

A  detachment  of  parliamentary  troops  un- 
der Colonel  Atkinson  was  quartered  on  the 
college  in  1647;  and  the  merry  soldiers,  when 
fighting  was  not  the  order  of  the  day,  amused 
themselves  in  the  chapel — without  remon- 
strance from  their  commander — by  pulling  out 
organ  pipes  and  keys,  tearing  open  coffins  for 
lead  to  mold  into  bullets,  and  doubtless  play- 
ing many  a  prank  with  the  coffins'  contents. 
The  vestry  became  a  stable  during  their  stay. 

The  chapel  is  one  of  the  few  remaining  por- 
tions of  the  old  college  of  Alleyn's  foundation, 
and  but  little  of  this  has  been  spared.  The 
inscription  was  erased  from  Alleyn's  tomb  by 
the  troopers;  but  it  has  been  replaced: 

Here  Lyeth  the  Bodie  of  Edward  Alleyn 

Esq.   the  Founder   of  this   Church   and 

College  who  died  the  21st  day  of  November 

1626  aetat  61. 


236     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

It  was  at  one  time  averred  that  he  was  not 
interred  here.  Some  said  his  tombstone  stood 
in  a  field  in  Half  Moon  Lane.  Perhaps  the 
Cromwellian  practical  jokers  put  it  there. 
Alleyn's  body  is  known  not  to  be  underneath 
the  present  stone  in  the  chapel;  but  it  is  be- 
lieved to  lie  near  by. 

The  Rev.  James  Hume,  a  fellow  of  the  col- 
lege early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  gave  to 
the  chapel  a  font,  and  he  it  was  who  wrote  the 
inscription  to  Alleyn  on  the  outside  of  the 
porch,  which  finally  exhorts  him  who  reads: 

Beatus  ille  qui  miseritus  est  paupurem 
Abi  tu  et  fac  similiter. 

The  fellows,  however,  being  human,  preferred 
to  contemplate  the  welfare  of  ego  and  gave  as 
little  heed  to  this  exhortation  as  to  Alleyn's 
statutes,  which  should  have  been  morally  if 
not  legally  binding  to  those  intrusted  with  the 
administration  of  his  gift.  There  was  formerly 
on  the  south  wall  of  the  chapel  a  painted  in- 
scription to  Joan,  stating  that  she  was  interred 
in  the  "  Quire  of  this  Chappell."  A  stone  in 
her  memory  on  the  chancel  has  also  vanished. 
The  warm  color  of  Giulio  Romano's  copy 
of  Raphael's  "  Transfiguration,"  which  now 
glows  on  the  north  wall,  originally  stood  over 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         237 

the  communion  table,  but  was  removed  in  order 
to  permit  more  light  to  enter  from  the  window 
there.  In  1712  the  church  register  records 
the  marriage  of  John  Lucas  and  Mary  Pepys. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  could  have  been  Samuel's 
sister? " 

"  I  wonder  if  he  was  related  to  Sir  George 
Lucas,  of  Colchester? "  we  queried  simulta- 
neously. During  the  eighteenth  century  two 
actors  were  buried  in  the  churchyard ;  and  here 
was  buried,  also,  Bridget,  queen  of  the  famous 
Norwood  gypsies,  from  whom  are  descended 
several  of  Herne  Hill's  "  first "  families. 
Speaking  of  families,  Sonia  said: 

"  I  have  been  wondering  whether  Edward 
Alleyn  was  related  to  the  Vicar  of  Bray?  Was 
not  his  name  Simon  Alleyn?  " 

The  estate  of  God's  Gift  College  is  not  now 
as  large  as  Alleyn's,  but  still  comprises  many 
acres.  The  playground  alone  occupies  twenty- 
five,  and  Dulwich  Park — now  public — nearly 
eighty.  The  new  college  buildings  were 
erected  on  the  old  common.  The  chapel,  be- 
ing a  part  of  the  original  structure,  is  there- 
fore some  distance  from  the  new  buildings. 
Adjoining  it  are  the  almshouses  which  con- 
tinue Alleyn's  eleemosynary  purpose.  And 
here,  too,  as  modestly  as  any  wood  violet,  hides 
'neath  wide-branching  trees  and  thickly  clus- 


238     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

tering  rose  vines  that  which  we  had  come  forth 
to  see — but  had  well-nigh  forgotten  in  the  in- 
tense interest  bestirred  in  us  by  Edward  Al- 
leyn  and  his  Golden  Age — the  Dulwich  Art 
Gallery. 

This  one-story  red-brick  building  occupies 
part  of  the  site  of  the  old  college,  although  it 
is  of  recent  construction.  About  the  begin- 
ning of  the  nineteenth  century  King  Stanis- 
laus, of  Poland,  commissioned  Monsieur  De- 
senfans,  a  famous  London  art  dealer,  to  collect 
paintings  suitable  to  adorn  a  national  gallery 
at  Warsaw;  but  Poland's  "  Dammerung  "  had 
already  begun  to  darken  and  Warsaw  was 
destined  to  lose  not  only  her  king — whose 
"  paper  tabard  "  was  plucked  off — but  the  pic- 
ture gallery  he  had  planned.  Desenfans  found 
his  title  of  Polish  consul-general  to  be  about 
as  empty  as  the  purse  that  had  paid  for  a  val- 
uable collection  of  pictures;  so  he  published  a 
catalogue  of  the  aggregation  and  advertised 
the  "  goods  "  for  sale.  At  the  time  of  his  death 
he  still  had  thirty-nine  of  the  one  hundred  and 
eighty-eight  he  had  bought  for  Stanislaus. 
These  Desenfans  bequeathed  to  Sir  Peter 
Francis  Bourgeois,  a  member  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  together  with  many  other  notable 
canvases  acquired  in  the  meantime.  Bour- 
geois was  the  son  of  a  Swiss  watchmaker  who 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         239 

wished  the  lad  to  enter  the  English  army, 
which  was  all  but  accomplished  when  he  became 
acquainted  with  Desenfans  and  determined  to 
be  a  painter.  He  was  sufficiently  successful 
to  receive  from  King  Stanislaus  the  Order  of 
Merit  and  to  be  elected  to  membership  into  the 
English  Royal  Academy.  In  the  Dulwich 
Gallery  are  about  twenty  of  his  canvases  which 
might,  alas!  have  been  stacked  in  somebody's 
hayloft  but  for  his  bequest  of  them  to  the 
College  of  God's  Gift,  together  with  the  su- 
perb collection  which  had  come  to  him  from 
Desenfans. 

In  1814  the  gallery  was  opened;  but  at 
first  visitors  were  admitted  only  on  certain 
days,  and  the  tickets  must  be  procured  from 
specified  London  art  dealers.  Now,  every 
day,  save  Sunday — O  Sabbath-sealed  Britain! 
— the  gallery  is  free  to  all. 

Of  these  wondrous  pictures  which  shall  first 
be  named?  Mrs.  Siddons  as  the  i;<  Tragic 
Muse  "  comes  uppermost  in  memory,  one  of 
Sir  Joshua's  masterly  works.  Oddly  enough, 
next  floats  to  the  surface  of  the  pool  of  mem- 
ory the  tiny  water-color  portrait  of  "  Queen 
Victoria  in  Childhood,"  by  S.  P.  Denning. 
The  list  of  painters  includes  such  names  as 
Rembrandt,  Van  Dyck,  Cuijp,  Teniers,  Ve- 
lasquez, Murillo,  Claude,  Raphael,  Dolci, 


240     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Gainsborough,  Hobbema,  and  so  forth.  Some 
bumpy  Rubens  nudes  and  goddess-like  ones 
of  Van  der  Werff ;  some  children  of  Murillo's 
brush  and  a  St.  John  by  Guido;  an  exquisite 
little  panel  by  Annibale  Caracci  and  a  large, 
glowing  Ruijsdael;  the  lovely  Van  Dyck 
"  Madonna,"  whom  he  must  have  loved — for 
he  painted  her  many  times ;  this  gallery  is  rare 
in  that  it  contains  very  little  that  is  bad  amid 
very  much  that  is  good.  It  was  comforting 
to  be  spared  the  weariness  of  traversing  long 
corridors  on  whose  walls  hang  but  a  few  fine 
pictures  among  hundreds  of  mediocre  ones. 
Diana  gave  utterance  to  this  sentiment. 

"  Draw  a  veil  over  that  sad,  yet  funny  Cart- 
wright  collection,"  said  Sonia,  referring  to 
the  group  of  pictures  bequeathed  to  the  col- 
lege in  1686  by  William  Cartwright,  a  Lon- 
don bookseller.  They  were  chiefly  portraits 
of  Elizabethan  actors,  Burbage,  Bond,  Field, 
and  others ;  but  the  keeper  of  the  gallery  wisely 
gives  them  a  room  to  themselves,  so  a  glance 
is  sufficient  to  show  the  visitor  that  they  are — 
what  they  are. 

"  Here's  a  Lawrence  portrait — Linley."  So- 
nia was  stooping  to  see  the  name. 

"Not  Ozias? "  Diana  exclaimed.  'Yes, 
when  he  was  a  boy.  What  a  dear!  " 

"  And  here,"  said  Sonia  from  beyond;  "  are 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         241 

his  two  sisters,  Mrs.  Sheridan  and  Mrs.  Tick- 
ell.  Why  she  is  Sir  Joshua's  '  St.  Cecilia '! " 

"  And  also  the  Maid  of  Bath,  famous  not 
alone  for  her  beauty,  but  for  her  singing  and 
as  the  heroine  of  Foote's  '  Comedietta.'  What 
an  interesting  life  she  had!  And  Mrs.  Tick- 
ell's  career  was  almost  as  picturesque.  I  am 
so  glad  we  liked  dear,  absent-minded  Ozias, 
who,  it  seems,  gave  all  these  Linley  portraits 
to  the  college.  Our  interest  in  him  makes  all 
these  painted  people  so  much  more  human. 

We  found  a  portrait  of  Lord  Bacon,  whose 
tomb  we  had  seen  in  old  Verulam.  What  is 
there  more  mysterious,  more  baffling,  and  at 
the  same  time  more  alluring  than  the  human 
face,  especially  when  one  seeks  in  it  traces  of 
character  known  to  dwell  behind  its  seldom 
transparent  mask?  There  were  Beechey's  and 
]\orthcote's  portraits  of  Sir  Peter  Francis 
Bourgeois;  another  of  ISTorthcote's  showed  us 
M.  Desenfans;  and  of  Stanislaus  of  Poland 
there  is  one  by  an  unknown  —  unsigned  — 
artist. 

There  was  no  time  left  us  for  visiting  the 
little  mausoleum  containing  the  tombs  of  M. 
Desenfans,  his  wife,  and  Sir  Peter,  whose 
names  are  so  generously  and  permanently  as- 
sociated with  this  gallery. 

Croxted   Lane   we   came   upon;  but  alas! 


242     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

there  stands  no  longer  at  its  "  top  "  the  manor 
house  that  was  ancient  when  Edward  Alleyn 
and  his  Joan  came  to  live  in  it.  A  few  years 
ago  the  land  on  which  it  stood  was  let  for 
building  purposes,  but  the  lessee  was  per- 
mitted to  destroy  the  manor — and  he  built 
nothing!  Walker  Weldons  are  omnipresent. 

Of  the  College  of  God's  Gift  we  read  occa- 
sionally in  the  writings  of  English  men  of  let- 
ters. 

Evelyn  says :  "  I  went  to  see  Dulwich  Col- 
lege, being  the  pious  foundation  of  one  Allen, 
a  famous  comedian  in  King  James's  time. 
The  Chapell  is  pretty,  the  rest  of  the  Hospital 
very  ill  contrived,  yet  it  maintains  divers  poor 
of  both  sexes.  ...  I  came  back  by  a  certain 
medicinal  Spa  at  a  place  called  Sydnam  Wells, 
in  Lewisham  Parish,  much  frequented  in  sum- 
mer." 

In  Horace  Walpole's  loquacious  letters  to 
the  Misses  Berry,  he  says:  "  This  morning  I 
went  with  Lysons  the  Reverend  to  see  Dul- 
wich College,  founded  in  1619  by  Alleyn,  a 
player,  which  I  had  never  seen  in  my  many 
days.  We  were  received  by  a  smart  divine 
with  black  satin  breeches,  but  they  were  giving 
new  wings  and  new  satin  breeches  to  the  good 
old  hostel,  too,  and  destroying  a  gallery  with 
a  very  rich  ceiling,  and  nothing  will  remain  of 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         243 

ancient  but  the  front  and  a  hundred  mouldy 
portraits  among  apostles,  sibyls  and  kings  of 
England." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Sonia;  "if  he  refers  to 
the  immortal  Cartwright  collection?  We  were 
hastening  back  to  the  railway  lest  we  miss  the 
train  on  which  we  had  promised  to  proceed  to 
Norwood,  when  a  big  motor  car  came  purring 
toward  us  down  the  shady  road  which  we  were 
about  to  cross.  We  stood  aside  for  it  to  pass, 
at  which  instant  several  arms  began  to  wildly 
wave  at  us  while  female  voices  shrieked: 
"So!"  "Di!"  These  were  the  nicknames 
Lady  Maude  and  Miranda  had  given  us;  and 
as  the  motor  backed,  belching  smoke  and  dust, 
veils  were  lifted  and  our  friends'  faces  became 
recognizable.  They  had  come  to  drive  us  over 
to  Norwood.  We  went  through  a  toll  gate — a 
pleasant  reminder  of  past  annoyance — and  by 
way  of  College  Road  sped  past  the  college  and 
Dulwich  Park,  past  the  great  Crystal  Palace 
at  Sydenham,  which  we  might  not  stop  now 
to  see,  for  the  muezzin  had  called  the  hour  of 
tea.  A  cozy  tea  in  a  pretty  English  home, 
whose  doors  led  out  into  a  fair  English  garden, 
is  as  pleasant  an  experience  as  is  afforded  in  a 
long  English  summer  day.  Large,  luscious 
strawberries  from  Kent's  sunny  fields  were 
brought  in  on  heaped-up  platters.  The  while 


244 

we  did  full  justice  to  them  and  to  several  cups 
of  tea  and  slices  of  plum  cake,  we  heartily  ex- 
tolled England  and  everything  English,  to  the 
kindly  strangers  who  gave  us  so  cordial  a  wel- 
come. 

There  is  nothing  now  in  Norwood  to  sug- 
gest the  simple  life  of  the  Romany  tribes  who 
made  it  headquarters  during  many  years;  but 
it  is  a  quiet,  shady  suburb,  whose  pretty 
houses  are  homes,  each  of  which  has  ample 
ground  for  dooryard  and  garden. 

Our  plan  had  been  to  dine  a  quatre  at  the 
Crystal  Palace  and  stay  for  the  fireworks ;  but 
we  found  the  giant  glass-house  so  anticlimactic 
after  the  peculiarly  rare  delight  of  the  after- 
noon at  Dulwich  that  we  all  voted  "  yea " 
when  Miranda  proffered  an  invitation  to  din- 
ner in  Finboro  Road  and  a  long  twilight 
on  their  flower-decked  balcony  overlooking 
Brompton  Cemetery,  whence  we  could  see 
sufficient  feu  d'artifice  at  the  Earl's  Court 
Exhibition  beyond  the  graves  and  the  trees 
a-twitter. 

"  But  you  must  see  the  palace,  now  you  are 
here ! "  they  said.  So  Mr.  Hebert's  car 
brought  us  to  the  High  Level  entrance.  The 
Crystal  Palace  is  as  useless  as  it  is  im- 
mense and  imposing.  It  affords  lodgment  for 
cat  shows  and  for  cycle  exhibitions.  The  Bar- 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         245 

num  and  Bailey  Circus  oft  has  saved  its  life. 
Here  Londoners  do  congregate  for  many  pur- 
poses of  entertainment,  varying  in  character 
from  cricket  matches  to  oratorio.  Baedeker 
is  inclined  to  be  somewhat  expansive  in  praise 
of  the  palace's  attractions.  Sonia  said  he  must 
have  received  his  information  from  a  coster, 
for  that  was  the  only  sort  of  person  we  saw 
there  who  appeared  to  enjoy  it.  Some  British 
tourists  from  far  counties  closed  their  mouths 
long  enough  to  read  their  guide-books'  eulogy 
of  the  palace's  cost,  its  extent,  and  its  "  art." 
The  palace  is  a  left-over  from  the  first  world's 
fair  ever  held,  and  was  for  many  years  a 
world's  wonder.  Some  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  earth  have  not  yet  discovered  that  it  is 
now  a  monument  to  sentiment. 

"  Every  year  at  Christmas,"  said  Miranda, 
"  they  have  an  immense  tree  in  the  center 
there.  Last  Christmas  the  tree  was  given  by 
Sir  Jeremiah  Colman.  It  was  about  ninety 
feet  high,  and  from  it  a  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  toys  were  distributed  among  the 
poor.  They  have  given  up  the  old  custom  of 
having  Father  Christmas  give  them  out — such 
a  pity,  I  think;  but  they  still  have  him  here, 
although  the  clowns  hand  the  toys  to  the  chil- 
dren in  the  *  circus.' ' 

Some  sort  of  an  exhibition  there  was,  strung 


246 

tawdrily  along  through  endless  aisles  and  cor- 
ridors. We  dragged  wearily  past  embroidered 
cheap-expensive  shawls,  beaded  moccasins, 
burnt  leather  souvenirs,  and  post  cards.  We 
tried  not  to  be  too  peremptory  in  our  persistent 
refusal  to  become  interested  in  the  wares  that 
bedizened  girls  or  tinsel-and-velvet-coated  men 
raucously  advertized  and  held  toward  us  in 
greasy  hands.  Had  the  place  been  less  vast 
we  could  have  better  appreciated  its  few  beau- 
ties, such  as  fountains,  palms,  and  plaster  casts 
of  classic  statues.  The  aquarium,  with  its 
prisoned  fishes  ever  silently  saying,  "  bop,  bop, 
bop,"  held  no  charm  for  us,  and  when  our 
friends  suggested  seeing  the  monkeys,  we 
made  haste  into  the  gardens.  The  superb  view 
from  the  terrace  restored  for  the  moment  our 
peace  of  mind.  We  did  not  try  to  see  all  of 
the  gardens  when  we  learned  that  they  com- 
prise about  two  hundred  acres,  but  strolled 
among  flower  borders  and  sought  a  place  to 
rest.  There  were  benches  in  plenty,  but  all 
were  preempted  by  costermongeresses  and 
Tommy  Atkinses  making  love  with  so  ruthless 
an  ardor  that  we  were  too  horrified  to  laugh. 
"  I  know  now,"  said  Diana,  "  why  Tommy 
wears  his  pillbox  on  the  side  of  his  head.  I 
have  often  wondered."  Other  sportive  young 
creatures  in  Arcadian  simplicity  of  manner 


Dulwich  and  Crystal  Palace         247 

played  leapfrog  or  kiss-in-the-ring,  noise  be- 
ing the  chief  element  in  their  enjoyment. 
When  the  frogs — female — were  bowled  over 
in  the  exuberance  of  the  game  and  rolled  down 
hill,  screaming,  we  turned  away  summarily. 
But  on  the  broad  walk  we  came  face  to  face 
with  a  half  dozen  girls  and  men  bearing  empty 
beer  mugs  and  displaying  the  effect  of  their 
imbibing.  Bacchanalia  in  Arcadia  may  have 
been  picturesque,  which  is  not  true  of  Crystal 
Palace  Gardens.  As  we  stood  aside  to  allow 
them  ample  space  for  passing  us,  one  of  the 
men  winked  solemnly  at  Sonia  and  bawled: 

'  Thire  awl  lidies,  real  lidies ;  eyen't  ye  '  Ar- 
riet? " 

"  I'm  glad,"  Diana  said,  "  that  we  decided 
not  to  stay  for  the  fireworks.  Let  us  go  down 
to  the  Low  Level  station  and  wait  there  for 
our  train." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

Colchester 

GOING  out  from  London  whether  by 
railway,  road,  or  river  its  immensity 
was  borne  in  upon  us  more  fully  than  was 
possible  in  traversing  the  city  even  from  Clap- 
ham  to  Islington  or  from  Stepney  to  Ham- 
mersmith. The  throbbing  heart  of  the  me- 
tropolis, where  great  human  tides  surge  and 
swell,  stimulates  by  its  very  intensity.  As  we 
pass  through  the  outlying  districts  the  pulse 
beats  more  slowly,  life  becomes  level;  the  very 
types  of  buildings  express  a  passivity,  a  luke- 
warmness  not  like  the  peace  of  rurality,  but 
merely  a  surcease  from  the  city's  strife. 

As  there  must  be  some  unsightly  corners  in 
the  most  sumptuous  palace,  so  in  order  that 
Mayf air  may  glitter  at  night  and  its  daily  linen 
be  cleansed,  gasometers,  laundries,  and  so  forth 
must  exist,  however  unsightly  they  may  look 

248 


Colchester  249 

from  the  windows  of  a  railway  carriage.  Once 
past  these  districts,  however,  the  dividing  line  is 
definite,  and  there  is  no  straggling  aftermath 
of  oil  tanks,  cemeteries,  and  dump  heaps,  such 
as  surround  New  York  in  all  directions.  You 
are  either  in  London  or  out  of  it.  Once  out 
of  it  the  train  is  magically  gliding  past  hedge- 
rows, undulous  farms,  and  the  graceful  elms 
more  common  in  England  now  than  her  fa- 
mous oaks. 

We  had  been  whirled  through  Kent's  rich 
dales,  through  the  lush  fens  of  Cambridge- 
shire, and  Surrey's  heath-topped  downs.  In 
Essex,  upland  pastures  rotated  around  us, 
scarlet  bean-blossoms  vied  with  the  poppies' 
flaunting  flame ;  little  curling  roads  led  to  dis- 
tant toy  villages  among  clustering  trees,  where 
square  church  towers  rose  above  red-roofed 
farms  and  thatched  cottages.  An  occasional 
windmill's  slow  red  sails  revolved  against  the 
sky.  The  great  hay  ricks  were  diminishing 
like  mammoth  loaves  of  bread  from  which  thick 
slices  had  been  cut.  We  were  never  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  see  the  giant  bread  knife  that  would 
seem  to  be  necessary.  Along  the  railway 
banks  were  narrow  strips  of  garden,  between 
hedge  and  track.  Often  they  seemed  miles 
away  from  a  village ;  but  they  were  well  tended 
and  promised  beans  or  potatoes  in  plenty. 


250     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Have  you  ever  seen  cloud  shadows  romp- 
ing over  a  field  of  grain  while  the  wind  rip- 
ples and  waves  its  surface  ?  Have  you  watched 
a  black  squall  blow  across  East  Anglia  from 
the  sea,  beating  the  trees  into  a  fury  of  re- 
sistance, laying  its  heavy  hand  upon  the  sun- 
shine and  flinging  in  a  brief  moment  of  frenzy 
its  great  pearls  broadcast  o'er  copse  and  pas- 
ture, only  to  laugh  again  and  chase  your  fly- 
ing train  with  a  rainbow  whose  two  pale  ends 
splash  color  through  pasture  and  pool  in  its 
headlong  race?  If  so,  you  know  something 
of  the  beauty  of  Offa's  domain,  of  the  gentle 
Eadmund's  kingdom — aye,  and  of  Old  King 
Cole's  as  well! 

You  thought  King  Cole,  like  King  Arthur, 
was  a  myth !  You  will  believe  in  King  Arthur 
when  you  have  seen  Tintagel  on  the  wild 
Cornish  coast.  Perhaps  you  will  believe  in 
Old  King  Cole  when  you  have  seen  his  "  Cas- 
tle "  and  "  Kitchen  "  in  Colchester. 

In  the  earliest  of  Anglo-Saxon  manuscripts 
and  in  the  triads  of  the  Welsh  troubadours 
mention  is  made  of  King  Coel.  Coel  Gode- 
bog — the  good  fellow — probably  a  Norseman, 
conquered  and  killed  Asclepiodotus,  a  king  of 
the  Britons.  Constantius,  one  of  Caesar's  gen- 
erals, who  afterwards  became  Emperor  Con- 
stantius I,  accepted  the  apology  which  Coel 


One  remains,  the  Balkan  Gate. 


Colchester  251 

thought  incumbent  to  make,  on  condition  that 
Helena,  Coel's  beautiful  daughter,  be  given 
him  to  wife.  This  same  Helena  became  the 
mother  of  Constantine  the  Great.  Helena 
was  born  at  Colchester — or  Camulodunum — 
as  it  was  then.  She  was  long  worshiped  as 
the  town's  patron  saint,  and  is  represented  in 
the  earliest  Seal  of  the  Bailiffs,  while  in  some 
early  charters  of  the  borough  she  and  Con- 
stantine are  pictured  in  the  initial  letters. 
Evelyn's  diary  records  "  a  statue  of  Coilus, 
in  wood,"  then  existing,  and  Colchester  Castle 
was  from  ancient  times  known  as  Colking's 
Palace.  If  you  still  doubt,  go  to  the  Herald's 
College  and  ask  to  see  the  arms  of  Coel  Gode- 
bog;  but  you  have  them  in  a  modified  form  in 
the  present  arms  of  Colchester — Coel's  Camp. 
Tradition  assumes  that  he  was  buried  at  Not- 
tingham, which  town  was  founded  by  another 
son  of  Helena.  The  arms  of  Nottingham  are 
almost  identical  with  those  of  Colchester.  The 
three  crowns  are  said  to  represent  the  three 
Wise  Men  whose  heads  were  found  by  Helena 
and  taken  to  Cologne.  They  are  still  there; 
so  we  were  requested  to  believe  on  the  occasion 
when  we  viewed  the  bones  of  St.  Ursula  and 
her  eleven  thousand  virgins.  Manifestly 
Coel's  arms  were  not  devised  until  after  He- 
lena disinterred  the  Wise  Men. 


252     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Colchester  was  called  by  the  Romans  Ca- 
mulodunum,  but  its  existence  had  begun  long 
before  Caesar  helped  himself  to  this  morsel  of 
the  map  of  Europe,  although  Caesar  declares 
that  what  the  Britons  called  a  town  was  merely 
a  clearing  in  the  forest  defended  by  earthworks 
or  a  river. 

British  princes,  like  many  others,  did  not 
always  dwell  together  in  love.  One  Caswallon 
had  killed  his  royal  brother  so  as  to  obtain  for 
himself  a  throne.  The  brother's  son,  Man- 
dubratius,  displayed  some  natural  resentment 
thereat,  and  having  heard  that  the  Great  Ro- 
man was  coming  over  from  France,  he  sent 
messages  to  Caesar  imploring  him  to  pitch  into 
— or  words  to  that  effect — Caswallon.  Caesar, 
being  an  assiduous  seeker  after  trouble,  found 
here  what  he  most  desired.  Caswallon's  army 
of  untrained  Britons  was  mowed  down  with 
ease,  whereby  any  further  resistance  from  the 
regicide  was  quashed.  His  life  had  been 
spared;  and  taking  an  I.  O.  U.,  payable  an- 
nually in  gold  from  the  citizens  of  Camulo- 
dunum,  for  value  received,  Caesar  returned  to 
Rome,  and  Mandubratius  was  permitted  to 
govern  his  father's  subjects.  A  nephew  of  his 
became  famous  when  Shakspeare  called  him 
Cymbeline. 

When  Claudius  ruled  over  Rome's  domains 


Colchester  253 

and  traveled  to  Albion,  a  temple  was  built 
where  the  castle  now  stands  and  a  statue  was 
erected  to  Victory.  Camulodunum  became  a 
Roman  city  with  Senate  House  and  a  theater. 
What  little  of  it  the  Danes  and  Saxons  may 
have  left  standing  was  demolished  by  the  Nor- 
mans, and  all  we  have  of  Roman  Camulodu- 
num are  some  articles  in  a  museum,  a  wall, 
and  some  splendid  specimens  of  Norman  her- 
ringbone masonry,  for  which  Roman  bricks 
from  the  Temple  of  Claudius  were  used. 

An  earlier  demolition  occurred,  however, 
when  Boadicea  came  with  her  vengeance-im- 
pelled army  and  devastated  the  city  in  the 
year  61  A.D.  The  present  Roman  wall  was 
not  built  until  after  this.  The  Romans,  for 
once,  had  been  caught  napping.  After  the 
majority  of  the  townspeople  had  been  slaugh- 
tered and  their  houses  burned,  the  few  who  re- 
mained erected  this  fortification  of  flint  and 
brick  cemented  with  that  wonderful  pink  mor- 
tar they  knew  so  well  how  to  make,  and  rebuilt 
their  town. 

We  reached  Colchester  about  noon.  There 
was  but  one  cab  at  the  station.  We  requested 
the  driver  to  show  us  the  castle,  St.  Botolph's 
Priory,  King  Cole's  Kitchen,  and  Scheregate 
Steps.  Save  for  the  castle,  his  expression  was 
as  blank  as  though  we  had  commanded  him  to 


254     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

drive  us  to  the  Eiffel  Tower  or  the  Pyramids 
of  Ghizeh. 

"  Take  us  to  a  shop  where  we  can  buy  a 
map,"  said  Diana  the  determined. 

"  It  is  Early  Closing  Day,"  he  demurred ; 
"  the  shops  is  all  closed." 

"  That  means  no  arms  china — no  photo- 
graphs," lamented  Sonia. 

"Hurry,  please!"  Diana  commanded; 
"  there  may  be  something  open."  They 
were  all  closed,  however,  and  the  town  had 
a  Sabbath-day  appearance.  An  ignorant 
driver  and  a  town  deserted!  This  was  dis- 
heartening. 

"  Stop  here ! "  shouted  Diana,  who  was  on 
the  pavement  before  the  wheels  were  still. 
Shutters  were  about  to  be  put  up  on  the  win- 
dows of  the  Essex  County  Standard.  She 
had  spied  the  open  door.  Happily  the  pro- 
prietor was  present.  He  was  most  sympa- 
thetic, furnished  us  with  guide  books  in  plenty 
—of  his  own  compilation — and  instructed  the 
driver  where  to  take  us. 

"That  was  lucky!"  gasped  Sonia,  wide- 
eyed. 

The  wall  was  our  first  quest.  A  portion  of 
it  we  had  seen  while  driving  up  from  the  sta- 
tion, its  crude  massiveness  richly  mantled  with 
trailing  vines  and  overhanging  branches. 


Delightfully  incongruous  was  a  motor  wagon  at  the  base 
of  "King  Cole's  Castle." 


Colchester  255 

Originally  there  were  four  gates  in  the  wall. 
One  remains — the  Balkon  Gate. 

Among  St.  Helena's  achievements  was  be- 
lieved to  be  the  finding  in  the  Holy  Land  of 
the  Cross  on  which  the  Saviour  died.  For 
this  reason  the  town  consisted  of  two  principal 
streets  crossing  at  the  center,  typical  of  the 
Cross,  which  also  shows  on  the  borough's  coat 
of  arms. 

Sonia  is  logical.  !<  How  do  they  reconcile 
that  story  with  the  fact  that  Constantius,  He- 
lena's son,  was  not  born  until  nearly  300  A.D. 
and  the  streets  of  Camulodunum  were  laid 
out  during  the  reign  of  Claudius,  more  than  a 
hundred  years  earlier? " 

"  But  me  no  buts,"  Diana  responded ;  "  let 
us  believe  all  the  pretty  stories,  however  thin 
they  may  be." 

In  another  part  of  the  wall  is  a  bastion  that 
has  become  known  as  King  Cole's  Castle. 
Delightfully  incongruous  was  a  motor  wagon 
at  its  base. 

We  paused  to  look  at  the  old  tower  of  St. 
Mary's-at-the- Walls.  The  foundations  of  the 
church  are  a  part  of  the  wall;  and  the  tower 
is  chiefly  constructed  of  Roman  materials.  Its 
top  still  shows  where  Thompson — the  one-eyed 
gunner  who  was  so  loyal  to  the  crown  during 
that  bitter  seventy-six  days'  siege  of  Colches- 


256     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ter  by  the  "  Protector," — placed  a  saker.  and 
therewith  killed  many  of  the  besiegers.  Fair- 
fax, however,  who  led  the  attack — and  won  at 
last — succeeded  in  demolishing  the  belfry  and 
down  came  crashing  poor,  brave  Thompson 
and  his  gun,  together  with  the  mad  clangor 
of  the  falling  bells. 

The  castle  is  declared  to  be  the  largest  Nor- 
man keep  in  England. 

"  I  observe,"  said  Diana,  "  that  everything 
we  have  seen  is  superlatively — something. 
This,  though,  is  tremendous !  "  as  we  came  sud- 
denly upon  the  castle  from  Balkerne  Lane 
and  through  a  part  of  the  Castle  Park. 

The  castle's  custodian  was  a  man  of  intelli- 
gence far  above  that  of  the  usual  taker  of  toll. 
He  showed  us  holes  where  the  fastenings  of  the 
portcullis  had  been,  the  great  chimney  vents 
in  the  thick  walls,  and  ever  so  many  other  in- 
teresting details.  The  dungeons  were  superla- 
tive enough.  We  descended,  each  bearing  tal- 
low dips — as  in  the  Catacombs — into  the  cold 
subterranean  chasms  which  seemed  to  have  no 
end.  Sonia,  whose  imagination  is  so  vivid  at 
times  as  to  intimidate,  clung  to  Diana's  arm, 
and  would  have  been  content  to  forbear  ex- 
ploring these  grewsome  chambers  which  reeked 
of  death  and  horror.  Some  torture  devices  still 
remained  to  show  that  such  things  were  no 


Colchester  257 

fiction.  She  almost  shrieked  when  she  stum- 
bled against  a  clanking  chain  that  threw  her 
against  a  moldy  wall,  where  hung  rings  which 
had  held  the  fetters  of  many  a  prisoner.  Here 
Sir  Charles  Lucas  and  Sir  George  Lisle,  those 
loyal  royalists,  were  confined  before  their  exe- 
cution. Here  also  dozens  of  Protestants  were 
thrown  by  Queen  Mary's  command  ere  she 
caused  them  to  be  put  to  death  in  the  Castle 
Bailey,  forgetful  of  the  loyalty  of  Colchester 
to  her  cause  in  opposition  to  that  of  Lady  Jane 
Grey.  How  heavenly  sweet  to  regain  the  sun- 
shine ! 

'  The  staircase  is  superlative,  too,"  whis- 
pered Sonia,  when  the  custodian  had  told  us 
this  was  "  the  widest  newel  staircase  in  Eng- 
land." 

From  the  ramparts  of  the  castle  we  looked 
far  away  in  all  directions  after  we  had  rhapso- 
dized upon  the  myriads  of  harebells  abloom  in 
the  chinks  of  the  stonework  and  ivy  outlining 
the  arches  of  the  inner  walls.  In  the  square 
turret  at  the  corner  which  we  were  approach- 
ing, James  Parnell,  a  Quaker  lad  of  eighteen, 
who  had  preached  his  gospel  of  peace,  was 
imprisoned  by  the  Protector  and  hurried  to 
death  by  the  cruelty  of  his  jailers.  In  order 
to  obtain  food  he  must  slide  down  a  rope  and 
then  climb  down  a  too-short  ladder  into  the 


258 

Quadrangle.  Once  he  fell,  struck  his  head, 
and  was  nearly  killed.  Then  he  was  thrown 
into  the  dungeon,  and  again,  when  almost  sti- 
fled by  its  foul  air,  he  was  shut  out  in  the  cold 
of  a  winter  night.  After  eleven  months  he 
was  folded  in  the  long  sleep  he  so  desired. 

On  the  ramparts,  near  the  round  turret, 
which  is  rather  modern,  a  well-rooted  tree  is 
called  the  Waterloo  Tree  because  it  was  plant- 
ed in  the  deeply  accumulated  moss  there  in 
the  year  1815. 

Colchester  Castle  also  had  its  Walker  Wei- 
don,  under  the  name  of  John  Wheely;  and 
in  1683  he  bought  the  castle,  intending  to 
dilapidate  it  and  profit  by  its  sale  to  "  local 
paviors  "  and  such.  Gunpowder  and  crowbar 
did  more  to  deface  it  than  time  or  siege;  but 
he  grew  weary  of  the  task,  contemplatively 
scratched  his  furry  pate,  and — decided  to 
sell  the  material  in  its  present  unremunera- 
tive  bulk.  Fortunately  its  present  owners 
have  some  respect  for  the  past  glory  of 
England. 

A  part  of  the  castle,  once  the  chapel,  is  now 
used  as  a  museum  for  the  rich  collection  of 
Roman  and  other  relics  that  have  been  ex- 
humed in  and  near  Colchester. 

"  How  does  it  happen,"  pondered  Sonia, 
"  that  so  many  Roman  coins  have  been  found? 


Colchester  259 

Of  course,  the  Romans  intended  to  return; 
but  why  did  they  leave  so  much  money? " 

"  I  have  it!  "  exclaimed  Diana.  '*  The  coins 
were  legal  tender  only  in  Britain;  what  more 
simple,  therefore,  than  to  bury  chests  full  in 
safety  and  readiness  for  their  return.  They 
were  experienced  in  burying  things.  All  these 
vases,  jewelry,  lamps,  and  beautiful  crema- 
tory glass  vials  were  exhumed  from  tombs. 
And  here  is  proof  of  what  I  inferred.  '  Part 
of  a  hoard  of  16,000  early  English  coins  found 
in  1902.'  " 

Some  terra-cotta  figurines  bore  strong  re- 
semblance to  those  graceful  ones  of  Tanagra. 
We  were  interested  in  a  specimen  of  the 
"  bays,"  for  which  Colchester  was  once  fa- 
mous. When  religious  persecution  was  ram- 
pant even  in  Holland,  and  Diana's  ancestors 
were  preparing  to  sail  for  New  Amsterdam, 
many  Dutch  Protestants  crossed  the  North 
Sea  and  settled  in  seaside  counties.  To  Col- 
chester they  were  welcomed;  and  a  company 
was  formed  for  the  establishing  of  commerce 
and  manufacture.  A  certain  woolen  stuff 
called  "  bays  "  and  a  coarser  grade — "  says  " 
— were  manufactured  extensively.  It  is  esti- 
mated that  at  one  time  a  weekly  income  of 
thirty  thousand  pounds  resulted  therefrom. 
The  bays  and  says  merchants,  as  well  as  the 


native  townsmen,  bore  the  stress  of  the  Crom- 
wellian  siege;  but  the  famous  company  was 
not  disrupted  until  1728. 

From  the  museum  windows  we  caught  the 
best  view  we  had  of  the  herringbone  masonry. 

King  John  is  said  to  have  frequently  visited 
Colchester  Castle. 

"  I  wonder,"  mused  Sonia;  "  if  old  Lackland 
paid  as  bountifully  for  his  entertainment  here 
as  at  St.  Edmundsbury,  where,  after  remain- 
ing with  his  retinue  for  a  fortnight,  he  pre- 
sented the  abbot  with  thirteen  pence." 

There  are  not  many  old  houses  of  interest 
in  the  town;  but  our  driver  indicated  a  "  black- 
and-white  "  one  that  had  been  standing  since 
before  the  siege  of  Colchester.  Some  others 
lean  o'er  the  footworn  Scheregate  Steps 
which  lead  from  the  end  of  Abbeygate  Street 
to  Trinity  Street.  Trinity  Church  has  an  in- 
teresting Saxon  doorway. 

While  Savonarola  was  leavening  the  lump 
that  Italy  had  become,  and  Columbus  was 
seeking  the  Indies  by  a  western  route,  the 
same  psychic  stimulus  was  astir  in  this  north- 
ern isle.  After  the  triumphant  return  from 
San  Salvador,  when  people  were  credulous 
and  none  doubted  Christopher's  discovery,  his 
brother  came  with  the  news  to  Henry  VII, 
who  lost  no  time  in  putting  his  finger  into  so 


Colchester  261 

savory  a  pie.  So,  too,  came  the  tidings  of 
brave  men  who  were  striving  to  amend  the 
evils  that  a  thousand  idle  years  had  wrought 
in  the  church;  and  seeds  were  sown  of  that 
Reformation  which  swept  England  of  the 
plague  which  infested  her  too-long  neglected 
monastic  byres.  Not  all  the  monasteries  were 
corrupt;  and  even  in  the  worst  of  them  were 
many  good  and  pious  monks.  Wolsey's  suc- 
cessor in  King  Hal's  confidence — Thomas 
Cromwell — influenced,  no  doubt,  by  his  prede- 
cessor's impression  upon  the  wax  of  history, 
determined  to  cut  still  deeper.  He  was  astute 
enough  to  recognize  Opportunity's  knock. 
Knowing  that  corruption  smirched  some  of 
the  religious  houses,  his  inflexible  will  became 
concentrated  upon  a  single  purpose — the  de- 
struction of  all  monastic  institutions.  He  em- 
ployed his  favorite  method  that  permitted  no 
defense  to  the  accused,  and  proceeded  to  wipe 
the  slate. 

Two  institutions  at  Colchester  were  thus 
effaced.  The  Priory  of  St.  Botolph  is  so  pic- 
turesque a  ruin  that  we  could  not  greatly 
deplore  its  demolition.  All  that  now  stands 
is  a  part  of  the  priory  church.  The  institution 
is  said  to  have  been  the  first  in  England  of 
the  Augustinian  friars.  It  was  founded  in  the 
twelfth  century  by  Ernulph,  himself  a  monk 


and  its  first  prior.  This  ruin  we  had  not  seen 
but  for  the  courtesy  of  a  gardener  who  un- 
locked the  gate  and  afforded  us  the  freedom 
of  the  pretty  garden  about  the  ruins.  The 
Norman  fa9ade  we  admired  to  our  hearts' 
content. 

When  England's  throne  was  occupied  by 
William  the  Red,  true  son  of  his  incendiary 
father,  the  people  of  Colchester  "  made  up  to  " 
his  steward  Eudo,  hoping  for  royal  favor  to 
their  town.  The  king  appointed  Eudo  to  the 
management  of  Colchester;  and,  strangely 
enough,  the  steward  more  than  justified  his 
reputation  for  justice  and  generosity.  He  re- 
paired the  castle,  and,  being  religiously  bent, 
determined  to  found  an  abbey.  On  St.  John's 
Green  was  a  little  wooden  church  of  Saxon 
origin,  where  miracles  were  said  to  have  fre- 
quently occurred.  One,  especially,  on  a  St. 
John's  Day  was  conferred  upon  a  poor  man 
whose  hands  had  been  chained  together  for 
some  misdemeanor,  and  was  praying  in  the 
church  when  the  chain  broke  and  the  man  was 
freed.  Wherefore  Eudo  decided  to  build  his 
abbey  on  the  site  of  the  little  church  and  call 
it  after  St.  John,  on  whose  day  the  miracle 
had  occurred.  This  was  in  1096.  At  Eudo's 
request  the  Bishop  of  Rochester  sent  two 
monks  to  establish  the  abbey;  but  they  did 


Colchester  263 

not  care  for  the  plain  living  supplied  by  Eudo 
and  ran  away  home,  like  truant  schoolboys. 
Others  came,  but  finding  no  luxuries,  left. 
Eudo  had  spent  a  great  deal  of  money  on  his 
beautiful  abbey,  and  innocently  supposed  that 
monks  were  devotees  of  the  simple  life.  Final- 
ly, Abbot  Stephen,  of  York,  sent  him  a  baker's 
dozen  who  stayed.  Eudo  also  built  a  hospital 
for  lepers  who  had  returned  from  the  crusades 
covered  with  doubtful  glory  and  certain  dis- 
ease. He  died  at  his  castle  in  Normandy;  but 
to  the  Abbey  of  St.  John  he  left  money  and 
land,  also  his  topaz  ring  and  a  gold  cup — aye, 
and  his  horse  and  mule. 

Cromwell  permitted  the  beautiful  gate  of 
St.  John's  Abbey  to  stand.  Perhaps  it  is 
enough.  Other  of  the  buildings  might  retain 
unsavory  associations  like  the  hideous  Abbey 
Church  of  St.  Albans,  whose  stain  time  can- 
not erase  while  its  walls  stand. 

Those  gentle  ladies,  Jane  and  Ann  Taylor, 
who  wrote  "  My  Mother "  and  "  Twinkle, 
Twinkle,  Little  Star,"  were  residents  of  Col- 
chester. 

In  St.  Giles's  Church  is  a  black  marble  slab 
covering  the  vault  that  contains  the  bodies  of 
Sir  George  Lisle  and  Sir  Charles  Lucas. 

Under  this  marble  ly  the  Bodies  of  the  two  most 
valiant  Captains,  Sir  Charles  Lucas  and  Sir  George 


264     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Lisle,  Knights,  who  for  their  eminent  Loyalty  to 
their  Soverain  were  on  the  18th  of  August,  164*8,  by 
command  of  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  the  General  of  the 
Parliamentary  Army  in  cold  bloud  barbarously  mur- 
dered. 

It  is  said  that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
smarting  at  this  reflection  on  his  father-in- 
law's  character,  asked  the  restored  king  to 
have  it  erased.  Lord  Lucas,  to  whom  the 
king  spoke,  gave  his  consent  on  condition  that 
substituted  therefor  be  the  statement  that: 

Sir  Charles  Lucas  and  Sir  George  Lisle  were  bar- 
barously murdered  for  their  loyalty  to  King  Charles 
I.  and  his  son,  King  Charles  II.  has  ordered  this 
memorial  for  their  loyalty  to  be  erased. 

The  depth  of  the  present  inscription  is  due 
to  the  king's  subsequent  command  that  it  be 
cut  deeper  into  the  marble. 

We  drove  out  to  Lexden  to  see  King  Cole's 
Kitchen,  which  is  merely  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
but  may  have  been  an  amphitheatre  or  possibly 
a  British  dugout  of  some  sort.  It  is  wholly 
unprepossessing  at  present. 

Our  stupid  driver  did  not  chance  to  take  us 
to  Bourne  Ponds,  of  which  we  had  no  previous 
information;  so  we  did  not  see  the  "pictur- 
esque mill,  built  up  with  stonework  from  the 
Abbey  of  St.  John."  The  brothers  fished  here 


Colchester  265 

before  the  Colchester  oysters  became  known; 
and  still  osiers  grow  thickly  at  the  ponds' 
edges. 

The  Hythe — in  Saxon,  harbor — really  a 
sort  of  firth,  is  the  port  of  Colchester,  which  is 
distant  about  eight  miles  from  the  sea.  One 
of  the  Cinque  Ports  bears  the  same  name ;  but 
this  is  not  unusual  in  England.  There  is  a 
river  Colne  that  flows  into  the  Thames;  and 
here  is  another  Colne  that  is  "  no  relation." 

"How  delightfully  Dutch!"  exclaimed 
Diana  at  the  line  of  gayly  painted  fishing 
boats  in  the  hythe.  "  No  wonder  the  bays  and 
says  merchants  felt  at  home  here." 

For  the  past  two  hundred  years  Colchester 
has  had  no  history.  Happy  town!  We  left 
it  regretfully  despite  its  inhospitable  reception 
to  us ;  for  it  had  given  us  one  of  our  summer's 
happiest  days. 


CHAPTER   XV 

By  River  to  Hampton  Court 

WHETHER  the  ancient  wooden  Lon- 
don Bridge  was  as  long  in  "  falling 
down  "  as  the  fame  thereof  we  do  not  know; 
but  the  present  solid  structure,  traversed  daily 
by  thousands  of  vehicles  and  pedestrians  in 
greater  number,  seems  in  no  danger  of  imme- 
diate collapse.  The  first  London  Bridge  of 
stone  was  thirty-three  years  in  course  of  con- 
struction, and  doubtless  a  marvel  of  engineer- 
ing in  those  days  as  the  present  bridge  is  in 
these.  Its  completion  was  celebrated  six  years 
before  Magna  Charta.  The  last  remains  of 
the  splendid  structure  that  Chaplain  Peter  of 
St.  Mary  Cole's  had  constructed  at  the  com- 
mand of  Henry  II  were  removed  about  sev- 
enty-five years  ago.  As  we  stood  on  the  float 
at  the  foot  of  the  great  highway,  whose  dull 
roar  mingled  with  the  lapping  of  water  against 

266 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court       267 

the  landing  stage,  we  tried  to  recall  that  bridge 
of  Chaplain  Peter.  This  was  not  difficult ;  for 
some  old  prints  in  a  bookseller's  window  had 
shown  us  the  two  rows  of  houses  bordering  the 
thoroughfare,  their  ragged  roof  lines  and  solid 
bases — beneath  which  flowed  England's  aorta 
—sharply  contrasting.  We  had  seen  thus  the 
traitors'  gates  guarded  by  bastions,  at  each  end 
of  the  bridge;  and  of  course  we  had  also  seen 
the  chapel  to  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  who 
was  quite  the  rage  when  Henry  commissioned 
Peter  to  build  the  bridge. 

The  sensible  way  to  have  "  taken  "  a  steamer 
for  Hampton  Court  had  been  to  go  down  to 
the  Chelsea  landing,  near  our  lodgings;  but 
when  we  learned  that  London  Bridge  was  the 
little  steamer's  starting  place,  we  prodigally 
spent  an  hour  and  fourpence  on  a  bus  through 
Piccadilly  and  the  "  city  "  because  of  this  op- 
portunity to  see  both  the  bridge  and  London 
from  a  new  point  of  view. 

A  few  fishing  boats  still  lingered  about  Bill- 
ingsgate as  we  looked  for  the  steamer's  ap- 
proach and  beheld  it  gently  gliding  toward 
us. 

Who  has  not  seen  London  from  the  Thames 
knows  not  the  half  of  London's  charm.  It  is 
like  discovering  new  and  unsuspected  beauties 
in  the  character  of  a  beloved  friend.  To  him 


268     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

who  is  blind  to  the  magic  effects  made  by  fac- 
tory walls,  lumber  piles,  or  dirty  brown  schoon- 
ers under  whose  torn  sails  bricks  are  piled,  by 
the  reflection  of  such  lines  and  color  in  the 
turgid  water — this  river  glimpse  of  London 
gives  no  pleasure.  Memories  of  Turner  and 
Whistler  obsessed  us,  who  were  happily  able  to 
idealize  the  commonplace. 

The  crescent  that  curves  from  Blackfriars 
to  Westminster  seemed  familiar  yet  strange. 
Cabs  tinkling  or  tootling  along  the  Embank- 
ment, the  Temple  buildings  amid  their  gar- 
dens, the  great  hotels,  Somerset  House;  all 
were  known  to  us  from  other  points  of  view. 
Big  Ben  chiming  the  quarter  hour,  the  lace- 
like  loveliness  of  Westminster  Palace,  intensi- 
fied the  feeling  as  did  the  Tate  Gallery,  where 
we  had  recently  looked  out  from  the  balcony 
above  its  entrance,  on  the  river. 

'  The  marvel  of  marvels  in  London,"  said 
Diana;  "  is  the  multitude  and  magnitude  of  its 
parks.    Perhaps  a  trace  of  the  old  Norman  love 
of  forests  still  exists  in  that  ponderous  body— 
the  Corporation." 

The  Albert  Embankment,  on  the  Surrey  side 
of  the  river,  begins  at  Westminster  Bridge  and 
with  slight  interruption  there  is  a  tree-bordered 
path  or  driveway  for  several  miles.  On  the  city 
side  the  Grosvenor  Road  and  Chelsea  Em- 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court       269 

bankment  extend  even  farther,  a  selvedge  of 
green  along  the  shores.  ^ 

Back  of  the  trees  lining  and  interlining 
Cheyne  Walk  we  descried  Whistler's  house; 
and  while  waiting  for  the  few  Chelsea  passen- 
gers to  come  aboard  had  opportunity  to  note 
the  extent  of  Battersea  Park  on  the  Surrey 
shore  and  to  register  a  vow  of  exploration 
therein. 

Another  crescent  merges  Chelsea  into  Ful- 
ham  and  Battersea  into  Wandsworth.  Magic 
names  all;  and  we  are  still  in  London.  Yet 
the  palace  of  the  bishops  of  London,  with  its 
battlemented  roof  and  corner  turrets,  secure 
yet  unclerically  formidable  within  its  moat  and 
amidst  its  splendid  trees,  might  be  many  miles 
from  the  roar  of  Bayswater  Road.  At  the 
upper  end  of  Fulham  giant  plane  trees  on  the 
Hurlingham  Club  grounds  follow  the  curving 
river  bank. 

Wandsworth's  present  fame  is  derived  from 
a  large  prison;  but  in  its  Huguenot  cemetery 
sleep  some  of  Diana's  forbears — so  she  averred. 

*  That  great  stone  bridge  must  be  Putney 
Bridge,"  said  Sonia  before  we  were  near 
enough  to  descry  the  letter  P  doubly  carved— 
dos-d-dos — on  the  escutcheons  which  decorated 
the  huge  piers  that  might  defy  the  swift  Rhone 
as  effectually  as  the  tranquil-flowing  Thames. 


270 

"  Surely  those  boats  over  there  do  not  im- 
agine they  can  get  their  tall  masts  under  such 
low  arches! " 

"  Not  until  the  tide  comes  in  are  they  likely 
to  attempt  such  a  seeming  impossibility,"  said 
Diana,  referring  to  their  present  high-and-dry- 
ness.  "  Perhaps  they  have  a  way  of  lowering 
their  masts  like  some  of  the  steamers  their 
smoke-stacks ;  but  methinks  we  must  to  our  his- 
tory lesson. 

"  For  what  two  reasons  is  Putney  especially 
famed?  You  do  not  know,  I  see.  I  do,  for  I 
crammed  it  last  night  when  you  were  writing 
to  Billy.  First  of  all  is  Putney  famous  to  re- 
gattors — I  wonder  why  they  did  not  name  it 
Puntey?  —  because  an  annual  championship 
boat  race  between  Cambridge  and  Oxford  be- 
gins here  and  ends  at  Mortlake.  You  recall 
our  dear  Charley  Ravenshoe  rowing  on  such 
an  occasion?  Secondly,  history  lovers  like  you 
should  know  that  Putney's  fame  is  linked  with 
a  blacksmith's  son,  one  Thomas  Cromwell, 
traces  of  whose  ministerial  zeal  we  have  oft 
encountered." 

Between  Putney  and  Barnes  lie  the  beauti- 
ful grounds  of  another  of  London's  country 
clubs,  Ranelagh,  for  which  "  vouchers  "  had 
been  promised  us.  At  Hammersmith  a  glance 
at  the  map  betrays  the  startling  nearness  of 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court        271 

Kensington.  Here,  however,  are  rows  and 
rows  of  new  brick  houses  and  young  trees  so 
typical  of  suburban  London,  whose  attempt  at 
dooryard  gardens  and  shaded  pavements  is  an 
almost  pathetic  protest  of  the  Briton's  eter- 
nal love  of  home  and  outdoors. 

Chiswick  House,  built  by  the  Earl  of  Burl- 
ington, is  as  pretentious  as  these  others  are  un- 
obtrusive. It  is  a  transplanted  Italian  villa 
and  looks  ill  at  ease  on  the  banks  of  the 
Thames. 

At  last  the  town  was  being  outstripped. 
Pleasure-boat  houses,  swans  paddling  beyond 
the  current,  bridges  terminating  in  green  rus- 
ticity proclaimed  that  we  we  were  emerging 
into  the  peace  of  England  from  the  unrest  of 
the  metropolis  of  the  world.  A  group  of  pop- 
lars dominating  a  foreland  seemed  to  have  come 
suddenly  forward  to  welcome  us  in  the  name 
of  England  and  the  Stream  of  Pleasure. 

"  Surely,"  said  Diana,  "  if  I  were  a  suburb- 
anite, I  should  live  at  Strand-on-the-Green. 
What  could  be  more  delightful  than  one  of 
these  comfortable  homes  from  whose  windows 
I  could  gaze  upon  this  adorable  river?  More- 
over, Strand-on-the-Green  would  look  so  much 
nicer  on  my  note  paper  than  Upper  Tooting 
or  Ham  Common." 

"  I  believe,"  mused  Sonia,  "  that  Ham  Com- 


272     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

mon  appeals  to  me  from  another  standpoint; 
perhaps  it  pays  dividends." 

"  And  may  not  this  be  also  true  of  Strand- 
on-the-Green  preferred? " 

Kew's  riverside  garden  loses  none  of  its 
charm  as  seen  from  the  river.  The  curving 
short  at  Brentford  is  also  outlined  by  a  road- 
way; and  cattle  browsing  under  tall  elms  be- 
stir the  low  tone  of  restfulness  that  is  the  leit- 
motiv of  the  Thames.  Between  Brentford  and 
Isleworth  still  stands  Sion  House,  for  which 
Kew's  Syon  Vista  is  named.  Katherine  How- 
ard, one  of  the  royal  sextette,  was  imprisoned 
here  after  the  religious  foundation  had  been 
disrupted  and  the  property  seized  by  the 
crown.  When  King  Hal's  great  corpse  was 
borne  to  Windsor  seven  years  later,  it  lay  here 
for  a  night  and  a  horrible  tale  was  told  of  its 
bursting  and  of  dogs  drinking  the  blood  that 
flowed  from  it.  Edward  VI  granted  Sion 
House  to  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  who  erected 
the  present  dwelling  on  the  monastery's  site. 
On  his  disgraceful  attainder  it  was  acquired  by 
the  Duke  of  Northumberland,  who  was  des- 
tined to  lose  it  because  of  loyalty  to  his  daugh- 
ter-in-law, Lady  Jane  Grey.  A  later  duke  of 
this  house  regained  the  property,  and  Sion 
House  remains  in  the  Northumberland  posses- 
sion. 


I 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court       273 

"  And  to  this  day,"  mused  Diana,  "  in  that 
far  away  Sion  Abbey  at  Lisbon  its  recluses — 
English  women — still  dream  of  returning  to 
their  former  lands  at  Isleworth  and  recon- 
structing the  abbey,  whose  original  keys  they 
carefully  treasure." 

At  Isleworth  is  the  first  of  the  locks  that 
control  this  gentle  stream. 

"  Are  we  turning  the  pages  of  an  illustrated 
story  book,  or  is  this  a  Parsifal-like  scene  un- 
rolling before  us?  Will  you  please  pinch  me, 
to  see  if  I  am  awake?  "  said  Sonia,  "  these  dear 
little  homes  seem  unreal.  They  are  too  tidy, 
too  precise  for  humdrum  human  habitations. 
A  heavy  rain  might  wash  the  color  out  of  the 
painted  gardens,  which  are  too  bright  to  be 
real,  and  unglue  the  paper  roofs.  They  ought 
to  be  in  a  toyshop." 

We  passed  a  group  of  red-sailed  boats  in 
tow. 

'  Evidently,"  said  Sonia,  "  they  can  pass 
under  the  bridges." 

The  wound  of  our  Henley  experience  was 
tender,  and  when  a  woman  began  to  strum  on 
a  diminutive  piano  on  the  deck  near  us  we  fled 
as  far  as  wre  could.  The  thin  wail  of  a  "  fiddle  " 
and  the  plaintive  quavering  of  a  flute  increased 
our  apprehension. 

"  Let's  go  down  and  have  luncheon ! "  we 


274     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

said,  fearfully  listening  for  the  coming  of 
"  Poppies  "  or  "  Violets." 

How  few  traces  one  encounters  along  the 
Thames  of  the  bitter  battles,  the  carnage,  and 
the  incendiarism  that  have  scarred  the  fair  face 
of  England  in  a  thousand  places  and  stained 
her  sod  for  thousands  of  years. 

"  Perhaps,"  murmured  Sonia,  over  the  in- 
evitable chicken  and  ham,  "  perhaps  even  the 
savage  hearts  of  Danes  and  Romans  were 
softened  by  the  river's  reposeful  spirit.  Per- 
haps they  paused  amid  the  iris  on  her  shores 
to  send  up  prayers  to  their  gods  and  to  cool 
their  hot  blood  in  the  tranquil  stream.  Until 
the  abbeys'  destruction  I  can  recall  no  violent 
deeds  beside  the  Thames." 

"  Save  Magna  Charta,"  said  Diana,  serving 
the  salad ;  "  and  it  is  pleasanter  to  know  that 
such  chapters  as  Ferdinand  and  Miranda,  such 
books  as  '  Ravenshoe '  and  '  The  Wind  in  the 
Willows '  made  the  Thames  known  to  us  be- 
fore we  saw  it."  She  unfolded  a  map.  ;<  It 
is  two  o'clock,  and  we  are  about  six  miles  from 
Hyde  Park  Corner,  as  the  bee  measures  dis- 
tance. I  think  I  remember  that  when  we  went 
to  Hampton  Court  before,  I  heard  a  declara- 
tion in  strong  language  that  we  should  go  more 
rapidly  on  another  occasion." 

"  True,  but  to-day  we  shall  be  there  earlier 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court        275 

than  the  time  of  starting  from  Earls'  Court 
Road  on  the  former  occasion;  whereby  you 
perceive  that  we  are  actually  all  these  hours  to 
the  good,  despite  the  desultory  pace  of  up- 
stream steamers.  Hurry  with  that  cheese! 
We  are  coming  to  Richmond,  I  think." 

High  above  the  river,  like  some  dominating 
Schloss,  the  Star  and  Garter  towers  beyond 
Petersham  Meadows.  Below  it,  also  overlook- 
ing the  meadows  and  river  is  a  vine-wrapped 
house,  where  lived  the  beautiful  Georgiana, 
Duchess  of  Devonshire. 

"  Is  not  she  the  one  whom  your  Bartolozzi 
portrays  in  the  act  of  chastising  her  baby? " 
Diana  asked. 

If  saints  were  easily  made  in  the  days  of 
William  of  Perth  and  the  Marathonic  Am- 
phibalus,  when  the  calendar  contained  as  many 
empty  spaces  as  the  dance  card  of  a  wall  flower, 
certainly  earls  and  dukes  were  easily  "  cre- 
ated "  at  all  times — even  to  our  own  day — when 
tea  merchants  and  actors  are  knighted.  Diana 
read: 

'  The  whipping  boy  to  Charles  I  was  made 
Earl  of  Dysart  and  given  the  Manor  of  Ham  ' ; 
likewise  a  prayer  book.  Behold  Ham  House 
on  your  left— 

"  He  whipped  the  folk  so  carefully, 
That  now  he  is  a  member  of  nobility;" 


276     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

hummed  Sonia  to  Sullivan's  air.  '  Was  not 
Ham  House  the  meeting  place  of  the  famous 
Cabal?  Oh,  yes!  and  her  Grace  of  Lauder- 
dale,  who  was  William  Murray's — the  whip- 
ping-boy earl's — only  daughter  and  heir,  per- 
mitted the  eventful  assembly." 

Here,  too,  James  II,  on  his  way  to  a  cooler 
climate,  was  invited  to  stop.  So  great  was  his 
haste,  however,  to  escape  in  possession  of  his 
head  that  he  declined,  and  posted  on  to  Roch- 
ester, where  a  few  loyal  fellows  packed  him 
off  on  a  packet  for  France. 

Twickenham's  oft-sung  ferry  is  not  doing 
a  phenomenal  or  even  romantic  business  in 
these  days,  if  we  may  correctly  conclude  from 
appearances. 

'  There's  the  wherry,"  said  Sonia,  "  but  I 
misdoubt  the  oarsman  is  indulging  in  a  pint 
stoup  at  the  Clarence." 

"  How  fortunate  that  nobody  has  made  a 
ballad  about  Eel  Pie  Island!  "  exclaimed  Di- 
ana. '  Thompson  was  capable  of  it,  if  we  may 
judge  from  his  extremely  blank  verse  anent 
the  '  classic  groves  of  Hammersmith.'  Orleans 
House — that  must  be  it — seems  to  be  going  to 
the  dogs,  or  the  auctioneer.  So  this  was  where 
fat  Philippe  came  with  the  posting  boy,  whose 
boots  are  at  Esher !  It  looks  like  the  harbor  of 
a  forlorn  hope." 


"a 

s 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court       277 

We  passed  the  home  of  Horace  Walpole 
and  of  his  splendid  art  collection — Strawberry 
Hill — wishing  we  might  have  seen  its  treas- 
ures. Kingston's  river  front  is  not  specially 
prepossessing;  but  its  bridge  is.  And  so  also 
is  Hampton  Wick,  opposite  Kingston,  with 
shaded  footpath,  flowers,  and  pretty  homes. 

"  I  like  the  cobbler  of  Hampton  Wick,"  said 
Diana,  "  who  had  spirit  enough  to  exhaust  his 
slender  fortune  by  fighting  for  and  winning 
in  the  courts  a  right  of  way  for  the  people 
through  Bushey  Park  when  stingy  royalty 
withheld  it  by  inclosing  the  park  with  fence." 

The  Fox-and-Hounds  at  Surbiton,  where  the 
Reliance  had  changed  horses  on  its  way  to 
Guildford,  we  recognized  as  a  pleasant  ac- 
quaintance. 

Of  another  inn,  the  Swan,  at  Thames  Ditton, 
Theodore  Hook  wrote  in  1834: 

"The  Swan,  snug  inn,  good  fare  affords 
As  table  e'er  was  put  on." 

There  was  no  landing  stage  at  Hampton 
Court ;  when  the  steamer  stopped,  a  longshore- 
man placed  a  plank  for  us  to  alight  and  saw 
to  it  that  compensation  was  not  neglected. 

"It  seems  years  since  we  were  here  I" 
sighed  Sonia. 


278     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  gate  at  the  "  bottom "  of  the  Broad 
Walk  being  closed  we  went  through  the  town 
as  far  as  the  Trophy  Gate.  Parts  of  the  palace 
are  now  bestowed  as  residence  upon  various 
governmental  pensioners  and  hangers  on.  We 
entered  the  public  galleries  by  way  of  the 
Queen's  Great  Staircase,  from  the  Fountain 
Court.  So  little  remains  of  Wolsey's  Palace 
that  we  resigned  ourselves  to  Hanoverian  ob- 
session, and — palace  interiors  are  very  much 
alike. 

Among  the  myriad  uninteresting  pictures 
and  the  semi-interesting  ones  of  doubtful  au- 
thenticity are  a  few  real  treasures.  Like  rare 
shells  on  a  beach  strewn  with  cohogues,  we  wel- 
comed them.  The  Lely  portraits  to  be  appre- 
ciated should  be  seen  before  the  Van  Dycks, 
the  Gainsboroughs,  the  Reynoldses,  and  the 
Lawrences  at  Windsor.  Afterwards  they  seem 
mawkish. 

"  If  George  Villiers  looked  like  this  Janssen 
portrait,"  said  Diana,  "  I  do  not  wonder  that 
women  found  him  irresistible." 

"  A  disgusting  face,"  Sonia  contradicted, 
unable  to  admire  what  she  cannot  respect. 
Poor,  pitiable  James  I  and  Elizabeth,  gro- 
tesque in  their  superb  royal  robes !  We  sighed 
because  of  all  they  never  had.  Little  "  Sir 
Jeffrey  Hudson,"  by  Mytens,  is  also  pitiable; 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court       279 

but  this  pity  is  akin  to  love.  Sonia  was  rap- 
turous before  Correggio's  lovely  "  St.  Cath- 
erine Reading  "  and  "  Holy  Family."  An- 
other "  Holy  Family  "  of  the  elder  Palma,  its 
rich  color  dim  with  age,  held  us,  especially  be- 
cause of  the  beautiful  face  of  the  stooping 
woman  beside  St.  John. 

Wolsey's  "  Closet "  is  one  of  the  few  links 
connecting  Hampton  Court  Palace  with  its 
originator.  We  stood  looking  about  its  painted 
walls  and  out  of  its  casement  trying  to  think 
some  of  his  thoughts.  We  spoke  of  his  fatal 
mistake  in  out-glorying  royalty.  His  retinue 
numbered  eight  hundred  persons.  His  master 
cook  wore  velvet  and  a  gold  chain.  Wolsey 
supposed  the  dignity  of  service  lay  in  being 
served. 

To  Wolsey's  Palace  was  the  court  always  in- 
vited for  Christmas,  and  many  called  it  the 
Christmas  Palace.  To  picture  Yuletide  was- 
sail was  easy  in  the  sumptuous  Great  Hall,  al- 
though this  hall  was  not  built  until  after  Wol- 
sey's downfall.  Hal  at  length  became  jealous 
of  his  prelate's  power  and  stripped  him  of  it; 
but  the  process  of  royal  awakening  was  slow 
and  Wolsey's  glory  was  a  world's  wonder — 
even  as  Becket's  had  been.  When  the  court 
was  at  Greenwich  Wolsey's  state  barge  came 
down  in  arrogant  splendor,  with  "  yeomen 


280     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

standing  upon  the  sails  " ;  and  the  great  king's 
beady  eyes  were  dazzled  thereby.  Kings  do  not 
like  to  be  dazzled ;  they  prefer  to  monopolize  all 
the  glory.  So  Henry's  cold  purpose  began  to 
be.  The  poets'  skits,  too,  may  like  gadflies 
have  stung  him  to  revenge.  Sang  Skelton : 

"  The  kynges  court 

Should  have  the  excellence; 
But  Hampton  Court 
Hath  the  pre-eminence." 

Queen  Mary,  determined  to  marry  Philip  of 
Spain,  succeeded ;  and  here  passed  their  honey- 
moon. 

In  Elizabeth's  time  came  Shakspeare's  play- 
ers and  Burbage  with  masques  and  interludes 
at  Yuletide.  The  honeymoon  of  Charles  I 
and  Henrietta  Maria  in  London  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  plague ;  and  in  Hampton  Court 
they  found  refuge.  Well  for  their  brief  hap- 
piness that  they  could  not  foresee  the  day  six- 
teen years  later  when  a  more  formidable  foe 
drove  him  here  again  from  Whitehall — also  the 
day  when  he  escaped  his  pursuers  and  fled  from 
Hampton  Court  to  the  Isle  of  Wight — and 
again  the  day  when  he  was  borne  hence  to  the 
block. 

Gentle  Anne  of  Denmark,  wife  of  James  I, 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court       281 

died  here.  Perhaps  her  starved  soul  it  is  that 
haunts  the  Queen's  Gallery.  Or  is  it  that  of 
Jane  Seymour,  who  died  at  Hampton  Court 
soon  after  the  birth  of  her  son,  Edward  VI  ? 

Thomas  Cromwell,  once  Wolsey's  secretary 
and  afterwards  his  supplanter,  dwelt  here  with 
Henry  while  the  deposed  prelate  sorrowed,  and, 
perhaps  hoped,  in  exile.  The  other  Cromwell, 
who  liked  his  title  of  "  Protector,"  but  who 
protected  neither  wisely  nor  well,  arrogantly 
assumed  a  sort  of  royal  residence  at  Hampton 
Court,  ever  glancing  over  his  shoulder  for  an 
expected  assassin.  Conquered  by  ignoble  fear, 
the  Protector  had  no  joy  of  the  pomp  to  which 
he  was  not  born.  His  daughter  Elizabeth's 
wadding  to  Lord  Falconer  occurred  here;  and 
a  year  later  Mrs.  Claypole,  his  "  favorite " 
daughter,  died  at  Hampton  Court,  daring  on 
her  death  bed  to  denounce  her  father  and  tell 
him  some  trenchant  truths  about  himself. 

The  Restoration  saw  a  king  here  again  and 
resumption  of  ceremonial.  The  splendid  gar- 
dens we  owe  to  William  III.  He  it  was  also 
who  commissioned  Sir  Christopher  Wren  to 
erect  the  south  and  east  portions  of  the  vast 
palace. 

The  fine  old  clock  court  and  the  indoor  ten- 
nis court — the  oldest  tennis  court  in  England 
— are  of  Wolsey's  day.  So  are  some  of  the 


282     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

tapestries  that  line  the  great  hall,  though  many 
of  these  are  of  Henry  the  Usurper's  choosing. 

The  grapevine,  carefully  guarded  in  its  glass 
house,  we  were  permitted  to  see.  We  had  been 
more  impressed  with  the  story  of  its  fecundity 
had  this  been  the  bearing  season. 

The  sunken  pond  garden  we  found  by 
chance,  having  followed  the  south  side  of  the 
palace  for  a  better  view  of  the  round,  lozenged 
chimneys  of  Italian  design,  which  we  had  per- 
ceived from  the  privy  garden.  The  pond  gar- 
den's gate  was  closed;  but  we  peeped  happily 
through  the  shrubbery  within  its  wall,  which  on 
this  side  is  low,  and  enjoyed  the  formal  box- 
bound  beds  and  the  white  Medici  Venus  at  its 
far  end. 

Stately  are  the  long  avenues  in  the  Home 
Park  and  the  broad  ones  in  Bushey  Park.  The 
fame  of  Horse-chestnut  Sunday  is  merited,  for 
the  trees  are  superb.  We  passed  again  through 
the  Trophy  Gate,  crossed  the  Thames,  and  had 
a  much-needed  tea  on  a  hotel  balcony  that  over- 
looked the  river. 

Reinvigorated,  we  indulged  in  the  customary 
search  for  usable  pieces  of  arms  china,  ere  our 
return  to  the  palace,  where  a  pleasant  bobby 
showed  some  quiet  old  courts,  the  Fish  Court 
and  Carpenter's  Court,  rarely  seen,  he  astutely 
informed  us,  by  visitors. 


Stately  are  the  avenues. 


< 


By  River  to  Hampton  Court       283 

An  attempt  was  made  to  see  more  of  the 
Home  Park,  but  was  forborne,  when  we  had 
attained  the  end  of  the  long  canal,  baffled  by 
the  flight  of  golden  hours  and  the  park's  im- 
mensity. We  sought  the  pleasant  bobby  after 
a  last  worshipful  look  at  the  brilliant  flower 
borders  and  a  last  whiff  of  the  tall  heliotropes, 
and  learned  from  him  that  there  is  a  railway 
station  at  Hampton  Court  and  that  a  train 
for  Waterloo  was  due  in  nine  minutes.  Feel- 
ing better  acquainted  with  Hampton  Court 
than  after  our  previous  visit,  we  sat  down, 
freshly  garbed,  before  one  of  Mrs.  Dodson's 
delectable  dinners  at  the  customary  hour  of 
"  half  after  seven,"  both  hungry,  happy,  and 
thoroughly  content  with  another  day  out  from 
London. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

Greenstead 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  more  than  a  thousand 
years  ago,  there  lived  in  the  little  city  of 
Niirnberg  a  gentle  boy  whose  name  was  Ead- 
mund.     Eadmund's  father  was  a  king;  Alk- 
mund  was  his  name. 

When  Offa — the  King  of  East  Anglia,  who 
had  caused  the  death  of  a  good,  but  to  him  dan- 
gerous man,  and  was  endeavoring  to  expiate 
his  sin  by  journeying  to  the  Holy  Land- 
passed  through  Niirnberg,  he  visited  Alkmund 
and  saw  the  little  boy  Eadmund,  who  was  then 
thirteen  years  old.  Offa  had  no  son  to  be  king 
of  the  East  Anglians  when  death  should  take 
him  from  the  throne.  The  gentle  Eadmund 
pleased  him,  and  was  forthwith  made  his  heir. 
Why  Alkmund  consented  to  this  when  the  boy 
might  in  time  have  reigned  over  the  Teutonic 

284 


Greenstead  285 

province,  we  do  not  know;  but  we  hope  it  was 
not  for  a  price.  During  the  following  year, 
while  on  his  way  back  to  England  from  Jeru- 
salem, Offa  died  at  Port  George,  and  the  boy 
became  monarch  over  a  country  he  had  never 
seen  and  of  whose  language  he  was  ignorant. 
Had  his  claim  been  questioned  Offa's  ring, 
which  had  been  given  him,  was  sufficient  guar- 
antee; but  the  peaceable  little  country  on  the 
western  shore  of  the  North  Sea  made  no  pro- 
test. 

Alkmund  fitted  out  a  right  royal  expedition 
for  his  son,  who  "  sailed  and  landed  in  East 
Anglia  where  he  made  devout  prayer  to  God, 
and  not  far  from  thence  he  built  a  royal 
tower  called  Hunstantone."  Only  the  name 
remains  of  this  "  rising  watering  place,  with 
good  bathing,  a  pier,  and  a  golf  course,"  where 
Eadmund  held  his  court  once  a  year  thereafter 
and  then  returned  to  reside  at  Athelbrough. 

Eadmund  was  a  student  and  a  dreamer;  yet 
there  must  have  been  some  glamour  for  the  boy 
in  becoming  king  in  this  marvelous  land  that 
all  Europe  desired  to  conquer  and  possess.  On 
Christmas  Day  855  he  began  to  reign ;  but  not 
until  the  following  Christmas  was  he  crowned 
and  anointed  King  of  East  Anglia,  being 
then  but  fifteen.  He  learned  the  Psalter  in 
the  Saxon  tongue,  "  which  book  was  preserved 


286     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

in  the  revestrie  of  the  monastery  at  St.  Ed- 
mundsbury  till  the  church  was  suppressed  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  VIII." 

Happy  for  the  taxpayers  is  the  reign  that 
has  no  history!  Of  Eadmund's  reign  little  is 
known  save  that  he  loved  his  people  and  served 
them  unselfishly.  Trouble  came,  however,  but 
from  without. 

The  Danes  descended  in  wolf  like  fury  on 
peaceable  Britain  more  frequently  and  fiercely. 
A  tradition  states  that  Ragnar  Lodbrog,  a 
Danish  pirate  who  had  achieved  fame  in  his 
free,  if  not  easy,  calling,  was  driven  on  the  Nor- 
folk coast  in  a  storm.  Pirates  were  presumably 
heroes  to  men  in  those  days  as  they  are  to  boys 
in  these;  for  Ragnar  Lodbrog  was  conducted 
to  Eadmund's  court  and  received  as  an  hon- 
ored guest.  While  out  hunting  in  the  royal 
forest  he  was  accidentally  slain  and  his  Danish 
compatriots,  to  whose  ears  the  tidings  sped  like 
the  wind  across  the  sea,  were  but  too  ready  to 
accuse  the  kindly  Eadmund  of  the  pirate's 
murder. 

Of  the  attack  that  followed  there  are  several 
versions.  One-states  that  the  king  was  residing 
quietly  at  a  village  near  Heglisdune — the  Hill 
of  Eagles — intent  upon  his  studies  and  devo- 
tions and  unmindful  of  defending  his  people 
against  the  oncoming  wolves;  but  that  his  earl, 


Greenstead  287 

Ulf  Ketul,  met  the  Danes  at  Thetford— then 
the  seat  of  both  king  and  bishops  of  East  An- 
glia — and  was  defeated. 

Another  narrative,  that  of  Eadmund's 
sword  bearer — who  related  it  to  Dunstan— 
would  seem  more  probable.  Eadmund,  he 
said,  fought  in  this  battle  at  the  head  of  his 
people  and,  horrified  by  the  fearful  carnage,  he 
surrendered  himself  voluntarily  to  the  enemy 
in  hope  of  saving  his  subjects  from  further 
slaughter.  The  victorious  Danish  king  sent  to 
Eadmund  a  message  requiring  him  to  yield 
half  of  his  treasure,  renounce  his  religion  and 
reign  under  him — the  Danish  invader,  whose 
only  right  was  might.  Eadmund  conferred 
with  his  bishops,  who  recommended  compliance 
and  urged  him  to  escape.  This  gentle  youth 
was  no  coward,  and  disdaining  the  priestly 
counsel  he  summoned  the  enemy's  emissary,  re- 
fused all  the  conditions  imposed  and  defied  the 
foe.  He  was  seized,  but  offered  no  resistance. 

Naked,  he  was  bound  in  chains  and  scourged. 
Then  he  was  tied  to  a  tree  and  whipped  again. 
Like  St.  Sebastian  he  stood,  silent,  to  be  rid- 
dled with  arrows.  The  tormentors,  maddened 
by  his  incomprehensible  calm,  were  not  satis- 
fied when  death  came,  but  severed  the  head 
from  the  mutilated  body  and  flung  it  in  a  ditch. 
Thus  perished  the  last  king  of  East  Anglia. 


288     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

From  Thetford  the  body  was  borne  to  the 
Hill  of  Eagles  and  buried  in  the  earth  under 
a  wooden  chapel.  According  to  legend  the 
head  was  found  guarded,  in  the  ditch,  by  a  she- 
wolf.  Could  this  have  been  a  Danish  woman 
whose  heart  had  been  stirred  to  love  and  pity? 
The  she-wolf  joined  the  procession  that  bore 
the  head  to  be  placed  with  the  body. 

About  a  generation  later  people  told  of 
miracles  that  were  performed  by  the  body  un- 
der the  little  church,  the  beloved  and  martyred 
king  having  become  to  his  people  a  saint.  A 
former  king  of  East  Anglia  had  built  a  church 
at  Beodricsworth  (Bury) ,  where  the  sacred  re- 
mains were  taken  about  this  time  and  placed 
in  a  jeweled  shrine.  They  were  destined  not  to 
rest  long  there,  however,  for  the  Danes  again 
poured  into  the  land,  led  by  the  mighty  Sweyn. 
The  bishops,  fearing  outrage  upon  the  precious 
relic,  sent  it  to  London,  where  it  remained  three 
years.  The  danger  having  passed,  the  jeweled 
shrine  was  borne  back  to  Beodricsworth — now 
St.  Edmundsbury. 

An  ancient  manuscript  informs  us  that  at 
Aungre  a  wooden  chapel  lodged  the  shrine  en 
route,  "  which  remains  to  this  day." 

Until  1849  a  tree  stood  in  Hoxne — the 
Hill  of  Eagles — Park,  which — overcome  at  last 
by  the  weight  of  its  twelve  hundred  years — 


The  lane  dipped  suddenly. 


Greenstead  289 

fell  and  was  split  up  for  firewood.    In  its  trunk 
an  arrowhead  was  found  deeply  embedded! 

Our  bourne  had  been  Epping  Forest;  but 
having  breakfasted  late  and  dawdled  over  a 
voluminous  American  mail  we  were  tardy  in 
setting  forth  upon  the  day's  adventure.  To 
him  who  is  already  late  comes  delay.  We  had 
been  told  to  "  change  "  at  Mansion  House  for 
Bishopsgate,  which  is  the  nearest  station  on  the 
Underground  to  Liverpool  Street.  Obedient- 
ly we  alighted  and  more  or  less  patiently  we 
waited.  Trains  came  and  passengers  hurried 
from  them,  but  no  train  for  Bishopsgate  ar- 
rived. At  length,  when  Diana  had  acidly  an- 
nounced that  we  could  not  possibly  catch  the 
train  for  Epping,  and  reluctantly  admitted  that 
there  was  another  a  half  hour  later,  a  man 
among  the  hosts  hastening  from  a  train  toward 
the  "  Way  Out  "  glanced  at  us,  hesitated,  lifted 
his  hat  and  held  it  while  he  begged  our  pardon, 
but  were  we  waiting  for  the  Bishopsgate  train? 

'  They  run  at  long  intervals,"  he  said. 
"  May  I  show  you  a  surer  and  quicker  way  to 
go?  It  is  but  a  short  distance."  We  humbly 
followed  him  up  to  the  street  and  preceded  him 
into  a  bus. 

'  You  are  from  across  the  sea,  I  reckon — 
I  mean,  I  guess! "  he  laughed.  Sonia  noticed 


290     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

that  the  big  book  he  carried  was  entitled 
"  American  Banks  and  Banking." 

"  I'm  an  American,  too,"  he  continued,  prob- 
ably quite  conscious  that  he  bore  all  the  John 
Bull  points.  "  I  was  on  a  horse  farm  in  Vir- 
ginia for  ten  years.  Here's  where  you  get  off, 
ladies.  Pray  do  not  mention  it!  The  greatest 
pleasure." 

While  we  were  waiting  for  luncheon  in  the 
station  restaurant  Sonia  glanced  over  a  guide 
book. 

"  Oh!  "  she  exclaimed;  "  let  us  go  there  in- 
stead. We  could  see  it  more  quickly  than  the 
forest,  and  we  haven't  very  much  time,  and 
the  forest  would  be  full  of  Saturday  trippers 
and- 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  this  babbling?  "  Di- 
ana interrupted ;  "  pray  show  me  what  you 
have  been  reading."  In  fine  print  were  these 
words : 

Greenstead,  one  mile  to  the  West  of  Ongar,  has  a 
remarkable  wooden  church,  the  walls  of  the  nave  be- 
ing formed  of  upright  tree-trunks,  said  to  date  from 
Saxon  times. 

We  purchased  two  "  third  returns "  for 
Chipping  Ongar.  There  remained  opportunity 
to  watch  the  people  rushing  for  suburban 


Greenstead  291 

trains.  True,  we  had  overlooked  the  facts  that 
this  was  Saturday,  and  that  all  London  leaves 
for  an  exurban  week  end.  The  third-class  car- 
riages were  thronged ;  so  were  the  second.  The 
first  were  empty.  Diana  led  the  way  into  a 
first-class  compartment  and  opened  the  win- 
dow preparatory  to  comfort.  Sonia  stood  on 
the  platform,  wavering,  her  eyes  big  with  pro- 
test. 

"  Come  in,  my  dear;  and  please  close  the 
door  after  you."  Diana  had  long  since  recov- 
ered the  equanimity  lost  at  Mansion  House 
station. 

"  But  we  have  third-class  tickets!  "  Sonia's 
conscience  was  bred  of  Plymouth  Rock  an- 
cestry. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  change  them. 

Third,  and  the  world  rides  with  you, 
First,  and  you  ride  alone," 

paraphrased  Diana.  ;<  I  am  going  to  Chip- 
ping Ongar  in  this  nice  blue  compartment.  If 
you  prefer  a  brown  one  and  the  company  of 
seven  overheated  city  clerks,  leave  me,  but  don't 
look  at  me  as  though  I  were  committing  grand 
larceny.  If  the  ticket  collector  wishes  more  of 
our  pence  he  shall  have  them."  Sonia  entered. 
A  guard  slammed  the  door  after  her;  a  bell 


292     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

rang;  the  engine  shrieked  and  we  were  off. 
When  the  ticket  collector  saw  ours  he  said  no 
word  save: 

"  Change  at  Stratford,  if  you  please,  ladies." 
Sonia  would  have  inquired  the  sum  of  our  debt 
to  the  railway,  but  he  was  gone  ere  she  could 
utter  a  word. 

"  Stratford!  It  is  not  possible—  "  she  said 
instead. 

"  No,  that  is  Stratford-on-Avon.  This  is,  I 
fancy,  Stratford-atte-bow." 

At  the  many  stations  en  route  to  Ongar,  the 
city  wagemen  and  holiday-going  women  and 
children,  together  with  dozens  of  empty  milk 
cans,  were  "  set  down,"  as  the  railway  time  bills 
would  say.  When  we  stepped  on  the  platform 
at  Ongar,  the  last  station  on  the  line,  there  was 
a  jumping-off -place  appearance  about  the 
quiet  little  station  where  neither  cab  nor  porter 
waited.  Toward  the  left  a  few  buildings  indi- 
cated the  presence  of  an  unobstrusive  village. 
Elsewhere  was  naught  but  rusticity — just  that 
wonderful  remoteness  from  the  metropolis  that 
is  so  characteristic  of  the  country  the  moment 
London's  grasp  is  outreached! 

We  asked  an  old  man  loitering  near  the  sta- 
tion if  he  could  direct  us  to  Greenstead.  He 
did  so  clearly,  gazing  at  us  the  while  in  simple 
wonderment  as  to  our  errand.  We  came  sud- 


These  sturdy  Saxon  timbers  that  have  stood  corner  to  corner 
for  a  thousand  years. 


Greenstead  298 

denly  upon  the  lane,  between  rose-flecked 
hedges,  which  led  to  Greenstead.  Some  chil- 
dren were  playing  there.  They  paused  and 
looked  wonderingly  at  us  with  the  villager's 
instinctive  inquisitiveness  regarding  the  unex- 
plained presence  of  strangers.  We  smiled  at 
them  and  proceeded.  Suddenly  the  lane  dipped 
into  rich  pastures,  and  thenceforth  it  became  a 
broad  grassy  path  between  magnificent  trees 
which  themselves  might  have  stood  since  pre- 
Xorman  times.  There  being  no  necessity  for 
haste  we  sauntered  leisurely  along  this  delight- 
ful mile,  so  as  to  lose  no  detail  of  its  charm 
and  also  to  permit  full  play  to  the  feeling  of 
detachment  from  London  in  whose  heat  and 
hurry  we  had  been  less  than  an  hour  ago.  Be- 
fore reaching  an  imposing  residence  at  the  end 
of  a  long  vista  the  path  swerved  to  the  left  and 
skirted  a  hay  field  beyond  which  we  spied  the 
wooden  tower  of  the  tiny  church  at  Green- 
stead. 

If  the  shelter  that  was  erected  for  the  protec- 
tion of  Eadmund's  sacred  shrine  were  chosen 
for  remoteness  as  well  as  peacefulness  and 
beauty  of  environment,  a  fitter  site  could 
scarcely  have  been  found.  The  square  timbers 
might  have  been  lately  set  in  the  wooden  sill 
where  corner  to  corner  they  have  stood  for  a 
thousand  years,  so  perfect  is  their  condition. 


294     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Thirty  generations  of  men  have  come  and  gone 
within  these  walls  and  themselves  made  room 
for  others.  Perhaps  the  pious  builders  of  the 
simple  lodging  for  the  relics  of  a  simple-hearted 
saint  had  some  prescience  of  the  almost  immor- 
tality that  would  be  granted  the  timbers  they 
hewed  from  the  Forest  of  Essex.  To  us  the 
dignity  of  this  little  church  was  more  spiritual 
in  its  appeal  than  the  carefully  thought-out 
lines  and  exotic  richness  of  emblematical  deco- 
ration in  the  fairest  Gothic  minster  could  be. 
We  thought  of  the  royal-ecclesiastical  march 
along  the  Roman  road  or  British  track,  bar- 
baric in  its  splendor,  yet  simple  in  its  grief  for 
a  slain  king  and  its  reverence  for  a  martyred 
saint.  We  dwelt  on  the  nights  when  lights 
burned  within  the  tiny  temple  and  watch  fires 
flared  on  the  spears  of  alert  sentinels.  At 
length  Sonia  said: 

"  Perhaps  we  can  go  in."  In  the  porch  was 
a  notice  stating  that  the  key  could  be  obtained 
at  the  Farm  Cottage.  Across  the  road  were 
two  cottages.  We  rang  the  bell  of  the  nearest 
and  then  knocked,  to  prove  that  we  were  no  or- 
dinary folk ;  but  none  opened  unto  us.  At  the 
second  an  irate  female  iterated  that  the  key 
was  at  the  farm  cottage.  We  humbly  inquired 
where  that  might  be  and  were  grudgingly  told. 

"  All  is  not  peace  that's  quiet,"  sighed  Sonia. 


Greenstead  295 

'  The  key  is  larger  than  the  situation!  "  ex- 
claimed the  delighted  Diana,  swinging  it  gayly 
on  its  jingling  chain  and  watching  the  glisten 
of  its  silvery  polish  wrought  by  age  and  use. 
When  the  bolt  flew  back  with  a  clang  at  our 
command,  all  the  thrills  we  had  felt  during  our 
Walter  Scott  days  came  back  with  a  rush.  In- 
side, the  little  church  is  much  like  many  mod- 
ern English  churches  and  destroyed  the  spell 
which  the  timbers  had  wrought  about  our  fancy. 
We  locked  the  door  again  and  withdrew  the 
giant  key  from  the  portal;  but  Diana  would 
not  hear  to  its  immediate  return  to  the  Farm 
Cottage.  She  played  with  it,  coveted  it,  and 
imagined  the  wild  joy  of  stealing  it.  Sonia 
suggested  that  she  "  take  "  a  photograph  of  it, 
which  would  be  the  next  best  thing.  And  with 
this  she  was  perforce  content. 

We  lingered  to  enjoy  all  the  roses,  from  the 
creamy  gloire-de-Dijons  clinging  to  the  east 
wall  of  the  church  to  the  tall  trees  freighted 
with  damask  or  deep-red  ones.  The  church- 
yard is  small  and  not  too  full  of  graves.  A 
few  clustered  yews  add  solemnity  to  its  beau- 
tiful, fragrant  peace. 

Reluctantly  we  yielded  the  key  to  the  woman 
at  the  Farm  Cottage,  who  ingloriously  hung  it 
on  a  nail  inside  the  door,  as  though  it  were 
a  beer  mug.  She  was  incapable  of  sharing  our 


296     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

sentiment ;  but  the  touch  of  silver  on  her  palm 
brought  lustre  to  her  weary  eyes. 

We  walked  back  to  Ongar  by  road,  which 
we  had  occasion  to  regret,  for  we  thereby 
lengthened  the  distance  and  trudged  through 
dust  and  sun  instead  of  idling  along  the  grassy 
lane  by  which  we  had  come.  But  Diana  never 
likes  to  return  the  way  she  has  come. 

We  sought  vainly  the  remains  of  Ongar's— - 
once — Norman  castle.  No  trace  of  it  is  vis- 
ible ;  and  its  very  site  is  problematical.  Perhaps 
this  was  one  of  Henry  II's  eleven  hundred. 

'  Where  have  you  globe  trotters  been  to- 
day? "  was  asked  of  us  at  dinner  that  evening 
in  Palace  Gardens  by  our  hostess. 

'  To  Chipping  Ongar  and  Greenstead,"  re- 
plied Diana  demurely. 

"I  say,  now!    You  are  joking,  really." 

"  Indeed  no." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  place.  Did  you, 
Sir  Arthur? " 

;'  Tell  us  what  you  went  for,"  said  he. 

'  We  saw  an  old  Saxon  church  and  had  one 
of  the  most  entrancingly  lovely  walks  imag- 
inable." 

"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  You  Americans  are  so 
amusing.  Aren't  there  churches  enough  in 
London? " 


CHAPTER   XVII 

Greenwich 

IS  Greenwich  far  away?  We  really 
ought  to  go  there  and  see  whether  white- 
bait on  its  native  heath,  or  out  of  its  native 
hatchery,  is  as  much  better  than  the  usual  sort 
as  peas  from  your  own  garden  or  apples  from 
somebody's  else's." 

"  How  odd  that  you  should  mention  Green- 
wich! I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  for  the 
scissors  so  I  could  cut  out  an  advertisement 
from  the  Telegraph  of  steamers  that  ply  to 
Margate  and  stop  at  Greenwich  on  certain — 
what  day  is  this?  Wednesday?  Let  us  hurry 
into  our  street  things  and  we  can  catch  the 
twelve  o'clock  boat." 

At  the  top  of  the  steps  to  the  landing  stage 
we  hesitated.  A  man  leaning  on  the  railing 
took  from  his  mouth  a  well-colored  pipe  and 
asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  assistance. 

297 


298     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  Is  this  the  landing  for  the  Greenwich 
steamers?  "  He  shook  his  head  sadly,  yet  with 
a  peculiar  pitying  expression  on  the  front  of  it 
that  regarded  us  as  though  we  had  been  chil- 
dren requesting  him  to  hand  us  the  moon. 

"  Ow,  now !  lydies ;  they  eyen't  no  boats  to 
Grinnidge." 

"  They  are  advertised  in  the  newspapers." 
"  Mye  be.     They  ad  em  awn,  but  business 
was  a  bit  dull  and  so  they  were  tyken  orf." 

Diana  thanked  him.     '  You  need  not  tell  me 
a  steamer  company  in  frugal  England  would 
pay  to  advertise  boats  that  do  not  run — sail- 
steam,"  she  said  to  Sonia.    We  went  down  the 
steps.    A  man  in  uniform  stood  on  the  hobbling 
landing.     We  put  the  question  to  him.     He 
looked  bland,  then  blank ;  at  length  a  gleam  of 
almost  human  intelligence  lit  his  eye. 
"  Ow,  you  mean  the  Margate  steamer." 
"  It  stops  at  Greenwich;  does  it  not? " 
'  Yes,  Miss ;  but  it  is  the  Margate  steamer. 
The  time  bills  is  chynged   since  last   week. 
The  next  boat  is  at  one  o'clock."    Big  Ben  was 
chiming  twelve.    We  all  but  decided  to  forego 
Greenwich,  and  London  whispered: 
"  Stay  here  and  do  some  shopping!  " 
*  There's  a  tram  starts  just  across  the  bridge 
for  Greenwich,  if  you  don't  wish  to  wait  for  the 
Margate  steamer.    You  are  American  lydies, 


Greenwich  299 

I  suppose?  No,  indeed!  Miss,  they  are  not 
all  alike;  but  they've  a  wye  about  them,  you 
know.  Thank  you,  Miss!  Good-dye,  lydies." 

The  tram  starts  from  the  bourne  of  all  the 
busses  we  had  not  wanted  on  innumerable  occa- 
sions— the  Elephant  and  Castle  Inn — which  is 
a  center  for  many  tram  lines  as  well  as  omni- 
buses. From  a  front  seat  on  top  of  the  car  we 
observed  that  the  newness  and  yet  settled  com- 
monplaceness  of  this  part  of  London  was  un- 
like any  other  we  had  seen.  We  passed  a  bit 
of  Kennington  Park,  in  which  Jerry  Aver- 
shawe  had  once  swung  from  a  gallows  tree. 
Via  Camberwell  Road  we  swung  along  Kent- 
wards.  The  young  maples,  the  plenitude  of 
baby  carriages  and  rubber  plants  and  a  large 
new,  Americanlike  public  school — a  rare  sight 
is  any  school  but  charity,  church,  or  pay  insti- 
tutions— all  reminded  us  strongly  of  Brooklyn. 

"  I  feel  as  though  we  were  on  the  way  to 
Coney  Island,"  Sonia  remarked.  "  If  the 
houses  were  of  wood  or  brownstone  instead  of 
this  dun  brick  I  should  be  certain  we  were  in 
the  neighborhood  of  our  respectable  Kings 
County  friends," 

"  St.  Giles,  Camberwell — was  not  that  one 
of  Edward  Alleyn's  four  parishes?  " 

'  Yes,  my  dear,  and  more  than  that.  Cam- 
berwell is  the  birthplace  of  Robert  Browning." 


&00     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  How  poky  this  horrid  tram  is !  When  I  go 
anywhere  in  this  way  again  I  shall — not  go  at 
all!"  Diana  would  seem  to  have  a  drop  cf 
Irish  blood.  "What  is  this?  Peckham?  It 
looks  it.  I  am  tempted  to  go  below  and  take 
a  nap  until  we  get  to  Greenwich — if  we  ever 
do." 

"  I  trust  sleep  may  restore  your  cheerfulness. 
I  think  this  is  an  interesting  ride — I  mean  as 
compared  to  that  dreadful  one  to  Hampton 
Court.  I  shall  not  tell  you  about  the  nice 
things  we  pass.  Oh,  what  lovely  baskets!  " 

"  *  Made  by  the  Blind  '  ";  Diana's  interest 
revived.  "  I  wish  we  could  stop  and  get 
one." 

'What!  delay  arrival  at  Greenwich?  We 
might  lose  half  an  hour  waiting  for  the  next 


car." 


At  length,  "  Lo  Grenewich,  there  many  a 
shrew  is  in,"  and  we  descended  at  the  unpre- 
tentious gate  of  Greenwich  Park. 

The  grass  looked  footworn  and  as  weary  as 
the  mangy  deer,  whose  ennui  we  longed  to  dis- 
pel with  a  bag  of  peanuts,  a  comestible  they 
had  never  sniffed.  This  part  of  the  park  was 
full  of  boisterous  children  who  scampered 
screaming  among,  but  did  not  disturb  the 
dozens  of  men  who  had  flung  themselves  down 
in  shaded  places  with  the  unpleasant  abandon 


Greenwich  301 

we  had  not  yet  learned  to  look  upon  com- 
placently. 

'  England's  leisure  class  appears  to  be  ap- 
pallingly large,"  muttered  Sonia  a  little  tim- 
orously as  we  hastened  away.  We  found  a 
path  that  led  us  to  the  brow  of  a  hill  from 
which,  though  haze-veiled  distance  was  denied 
us,  there  was  a  wide  view  up  and  down  the 
Thames.  Beyond  the  forest  of  masts  and 
Hampstead  Hill,  however,  Sonia  declared  she 
saw  Epping  Forest. 

'  In  fine  weather,"  said  Diana  from  a  newly- 
acquired  fund  of  information,  "  Windsor  is 
visible."  And  here  Turner  made  the  original 
sketch  for  one  of  his  greatest  canvases :  "  Lon- 
don from  Greenwich."  The  sketch  is  preserved 
in  the  Liber  Studiorum  at  the  South  Kensing- 
ton Museum.  Here,  too,  the  great  doctor- 
etcher,  Sir  Seymour  Haden,  sketched  the  study 
for  one  of  his  finest  plates :  ' '  The  Break- 
ing-up  of  H.  M.  S.  Agamemnon." 

"  Have  you  noticed,"  asked  Sonia,  as  we  sat 
where  so  many  famous  and  infamous  people 
have  paused  to  gaze  and  to  ponder,  "  have  you 
observed  that  every  one  of  our  trips  out  from 
London  has  been  like  a  golden  link  in  a  chain 
whose  end  we  have  not  yet  attained?  Perhaps 
it  has  no  end,  but  forms  a  magic  circle  of 
human  history  about " 


302     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

"  I  see  what  you  mean :  sort  of  a  non-skid- 
ding tire  chain,  London  being  the  hub  of  the 
wheel  and  we  mere  inquisitive  insects  venturing 
out  upon  the  spokes  and  discovering  that  they 
all  lead  to  parts  of  the  selfsame  chain." 

*  You  have  a  deplorable  habit  of  dragging 
me  down  from  spiritual  heights  to  your  own 
level- 

'  The  vicinity  of  six  feet  from  mother  earth 
is  high  enough  for  you.  But  pray  elucidate. 
Wherein  is  Greenwich  constituted  among  your 
alleged  golden  links?  " 

'  You  remember  a  play  called  '  Henry  V,' 
written  by  a  friend  of  Edward  Alleyn  and  su- 
perbly performed  by  Richard  Mansfield?  Very 
good.  You  may  also  recall  that  while  '  Sweet 
Kate  '  with  her  infant  son  awaited  at  Windsor 
the  return  of  her  lord  who  had  carried  off  with 
him  to  France  our  friend  James  Stewart  whose 
romance  with  Jane,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
Somerset,  was  then  in  its  incipiency — Henry 
lay  dying  at  Vincennes  and  commanded  his 
brother,  Duke  Humphrey  of  Gloucester,  to 
become  '  protector  '  of  the  baby  monarch?  " 

'  Your  sentence  is  somewhat  involved ;  and 
I  perceive  therein  reference  to  several  links; 
but  Greenwich  appears  not  among  them." 

"  Humphrey,  Duke  of  Gloucester,  was  lord 
of  these  very  acres  on  which  we  are  now  repos- 


Greenwich  303 

ing!  He  it  was  who  built  the  palace  of  Pla- 
centia  overlooking  the  Thames ;  and  on  yonder 
lofty  summit  that  looks  like  an  overgrown  toy- 
shop, but  is  presumably  the  Royal  Observa- 
tory, stood  his  tower  Mirefleur." 

"  Oh,  that  must  have  been  the  Miraflores 
where  Amadis  of  Gaul  and  his  lovely  Oriana 
had  so  many  romantic  adventures ! "  Diana, 
too,  could  rhapsodize  upon  occasion. 

The  story  of  Duke  Humphrey  is  picturesque 
enough  to  inspire  a  long  tale.  Still  more  dra- 
matic is  that  of  the  beautiful  Jacqueline, 
Countess  of  Hainault  and  Holland,  whom 
Humphrey  first  saw  at  Vincennes  at  the  time 
of  his  brother's  death.  When  fifteen  years  old 
she  had  been  married  to  the  Duke  of  Touraine, 
who  became  two  years  later  Dauphin  of 
France.  A  dose  of  Catherine's  "  medicine  " 
thereupon  removed  him  from  the  political  per- 
spective; and  after  a  brief  widowhood  seven- 
teen-year-old Jacqueline  was  married,  for  rea- 
sons of  state,  to  the  Duke  of  Brabant.  This 
Flemish  duke  was  not  only  a  brute  but  a  cow- 
ard— the  two  qualities  are  near  akin — and  after 
the  young  duchess  had  been  forced  to  lead  her 
armies  against  a  foe  from  which  her  husband 
fled,  having  suffered  meanwhile  untold  cruelty 
from  him,  she  succeeded  in  obtaining  permis- 
sion from  the  pope  for  a  separation  from  Bra- 


304     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

bant.  Duke  Humphrey  of  Gloucester  had 
been  on  more  than  friendly  terms  with  Eleanor, 
daughter  of  the  Kentish  Duke,  Cobham;  but 
nevertheless  he  became  enamored  of  Jacqueline 
and  they  were  married.  They  came  to  Eng- 
land and  enjoyed  a  brief  period  of  happiness. 
In  1423  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Glouces- 
ter became  members  of  the  lay  fraternity  of 
St.  Alban's  Abbey,  whose  abbot  Whethamp- 
stead  was  a  college  chum  of  Humphrey  at  Ox- 
ford. The  young  couple  spent  a  Christmas 
at  the  abbey,  and  contributed  liberally  to  the 
coffers  and  vestment  chests  thereof.  Another 
duke,  he  of  Burgundy,  who  was  a  kinsman  of 
Jacqueline,  brought  about  further  necessity  for 
battle  with  her  armies,  and  after  two  years  in 
England  she  returned  to  Hainault  to  lead  her 
people  against  the  foe.  Humphrey,  true  to  his 
new  titles  of  Count  of  Hainault,  of  Holland 
and  of  Flanders,  and  Lord  of  Friesland,  ac- 
companied and  aided  her.  Her  forces  met  with 
defeat  and  when  she  would  have  returned  to 
England,  the  people  of  Mons,  her  native  town, 
besought  her  to  remain  there.  She  did  so  and 
Humphrey  returned  to  England.  She  never 
saw  him  again,  for  the  crafty  Eleanor  held  out 
her  seductive  little  finger,  around  which  the 
susceptible  duke  was  shortly  "  wound,"  in 
which  position  her  strong  will  and  insatiable 


Greenwich  305 

ambition  held  him  long  after  her  charm  for  him 
had  passed.  Burgundy's  machinations  had 
procured  a  papal  decree  pronouncing  Jacque- 
line's divorce  from  Brabant  invalid,  and  her 
marriage,  therefore,  with  Duke  Humphrey 
was  annulled.  Eleanor  shortly  became  Duch- 
ess of  Gloucester  and  the  little  Dutch  girl  was 
forgotten. 

Had  the  first  Duchess  of  Gloucester  contin- 
ued her  career  in  England,  Humphrey  might 
have  been  one  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  his- 
tory of  that  kingdom.  Shakspeare  calls  him 
"  good  Duke  Humphrey,"  and  he  was  popular 
with  both  Parliament  and  the  people;  but  his 
wife's  desire  to  be  queen  was  the  ultimate  cause 
not  only  of  their  own  undoing,  but  of  the  fall 
of  the  house  of  Lancaster.  Aside  from  the 
duke's  diplomatic  abilities,  he  was  naturally  a 
student,  and  had  mastered  several  languages. 
His  letters  to  certain  distinguished  foreigners 
in  their  own  tongues  and  in  Latin  are  now  ex- 
tant and  fill  a  number  of  volumes.  To  the  Uni- 
versity of  Oxford  he  bequeathed  a  hundred  and 
thirty  "  rare  books  "  as  an  entry  in  an  old  reg- 
ister states  it.  These  have  been  absorbed  in 
the  Bodleian,  and  it  is  not  known  which  of  this 
library's  vast  aggregation  of  treasures  are  the 
duke's  gift.  He  had  a  fondness  also  for  archi- 
tectural study  and  built  the  "  Divinity  School  " 


306  Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

at  Oxford.  He  aided  in  embellishing  and  re- 
storing many  parts  of  St.  Alban's  Abbey.  As 
patron  of  the  poet  Lydgate  he  also  showed  his 
interest  in  England's  budding  literature.  On 
the  occasion  of  the  coronation  of  the  baby  king, 
Henry  VI,  Lydgate  wrote  a  long  poem.  The 
duke  came  in  for  a  share  of  his  eulogy : 

Due  of  Gloucester  men  this  prince  call ; 

And  notwithstanding  his  state  and  dignitie, 
His  corage  never  doth  appalle 

To  studie  in  booke  of  Antiquite ; 

Therein  he  hath  so  great  felicite 
Vertuosli  himself  to  occupie, 

Of  vinous  slouth  to  have  the  maistrie. 

Holinshed  says  of  him:  "He  was  an  up- 
right and  politike  governour,  bending  all  his 
indeavours  to  the  advancement  of  the  common- 
wealth ;  verie  loving  to  the  poore  commons,  and 
so  beloved  of  them  againe;  learned,  wise,  full 
of  courtesie,  void  of  pride  and  ambition,  but 
where  it  is  most  commendable." 

Even  Shakspeare,  however,  admits  to  the 
incessant  bickering  between  Humphrey  and 
Cardinal  Beaufort,  who  was  a  son  of  John  of 
Gaunt,  and  hoped  to  obtain  to  an  ecclesiastical 
office  that  should  rival  that  of  Canterbury. 
This  Humphrey  had  prevented.  Beaufort's 
enmity  for  Gloucester  was  no  greater  than 


Greenwich  307 

that  of  Queen  Margaret,  who  saw  through 
Eleanor's  ambition  that  the  king's  protector 
become  possessed  of  the  crown  as  well.  Henry, 
who  as  he  grew  into  manhood  loved  and  de- 
pended upon  his  uncle,  could  not  have  been 
party  to  his  death,  although  when  tales  were 
brought  to  him  of  alleged  treasonable  remarks 
made  by  the  duke,  he  caused  him  to  be  sum- 
moned to  the  court,  then  at  Bury.  Said  Beau- 
fort: 

That  he  should  die  is  worthy  policie, 
But  yet  we  want  a  color  for  his  death; 
'Tis  meet  he  be  condemned  by  course  of  law. 

He  was,  but  before  punishment  could  be 
imposed  Beaufort  and  the  Duke  of  Suffolk, 
Queen  Margaret's  tool,  arranged  a  means 
whereby  Humphrey  was  found  "  dead  in  his 
bed."  King  Henry  commanded  that  the  body 
be  borne  in  state  to  St.  Paul's  in  London,  where 
it  remained  for  several  days  before  going  forth 
to  its  final  resting  place  in  St.  Alban's  Abbey. 
A  legend  that  the  body  was  interred  in  St. 
Paul's  was  for  many  years  believed;  but  in 
recent  times  when  it  became  necessary  to  make 
a  vault  under  the  Saints'  Chapel  in  St.  Alban's 
a  little  stone  staircase  was  discovered  under 
the  pavement,  which  led  down  to  an  ancient 
vault  where  the  duke's  body  was  found,  mar- 


308     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

velously  preserved,  "  embalmed  in  a  brown 
liquor."  The  miraculous  power  of  the  abbey's 
especial  saint  having  disappeared,  due  to  the 
controversy  with  the  monks  of  Ely  as  to  the 
actual  possession  of  the  worthy  Alban's  bones, 
the  discovery  of  Duke  Humphrey's  body  was 
a  source  of  rich  revenue  to  the  abbey;  but  un- 
fortunately the  good  brothers  had  not  be- 
thought them  to  protect  the  "  remains  "  from 
air,  and  the  embalming  fluid  evaporated, 
whereupon  the  last  vestiges  of  the  "  good 
duke  "  were  not  sufficient  to  "  stop  a  hole  to 
keep  the  wind  away." 

All  this  was  borne  in  upon  us  by  means  of 
local  guide  books  and  our  insufficient  memories 
of  history  lessons  and  Shakspeare's  plays  the 
while  we  sat  on  the  little  hill  in  Greenwich 
Park. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  mused  Sonia,  "  how 
different  were  those  two  corteges  from  Bury 
to  London — Eadmund's  and  Humphrey's." 

'  Yes,"  responded  Diana;  "I  am  in  the 
mood  '  to  sit  down  on  the  ground  and  tell  sad 
stories  of  the  death  of  kings  ' ;  but — oh,  dear ! 
we  wanted  to  see  the  time  ball  drop.  What 
time  is  it? " 

"  Eleven  minutes  and  a  half  too  late!  " 

Wherefore  we  started  for  the  observatory 
almost  on  a  run,  lest  anything  else  escape  us. 


Greenwich  309 

By  "  sign  language,"  as  Diana  termed  it,  we 
learned  that  the  buildings  could  only  be  seen  by 
special  permit.  We  agreed  that  we  were  quite 
satisfied  with  this  arrangement  and  averred 
that  these  queer-shaped  structures  were  un- 
canny and  might  be  the  abode  of  all  sorts  of 
cabalistic  doings.  We  looked  at  the  big 
twenty-four-hour  clock,  which  is  the  only  por- 
tion of  this  house  of  magic  that  is  bold  enough 
to  show  its  face  to  the  public  gaze. 

"  Mercy!  "  exclaimed  Diana;  "  we  are  stand- 
ing on  a  meridian.  Ever  since  I  studied  geog- 
raphy I  have  pictured  the  meridians  as  big 
cables  tied  to  the  poles.  I  believe  I  am  disap- 
pointed not  to  find  it  true.  Do  you  feel  any 
peculiar  sensations? " 

"  Not  even  a  galvanic  thrill.  I  never  have 
been  able  to  understand  why  so  much  fuss  is 
made  about  meridians  and  longitude.  Why  are 
not  zones  and  latitude  quite  as  important?  I 
have  always  preferred  bayadere  stripes  to  ver- 
tical ones." 

"  Meridians  must  have  been  decided  by  those 
wizards  in  yonder  to  be  more  becoming  to  the 
stout  figure  of  Mother  Earth.  There  must  be 
another  fine  view  around  this  corner.  Let  us 
go  and  see! " 

A  large  park  is  much  like  a  street  car  in  that 
the  farther  we  penetrate  beyond  the  entrance, 


310     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

the  pleasanter  it  becomes.  The  heart  of  Green- 
wich Park  was  silent,  deserted  almost;  and  we 
were  monarchs  of  all  we  surveyed,  save  for  the 
occasional  appearance  of  a  uniformed  guard. 
We  traversed  long  broad  avenues  whose  trees 
were  superb.  Many  of  the  elms  were  planted 
when  the  park  was  made  in  1664;  but  there  are 
yews,  Lebanon  cedars,  hawthorns,  and  great 
Spanish  chestnuts  that  had  then  been  standing 
hundreds  of  years. 

We  came  to  a  fine  old  house  that  is  now  the 
Ranger's  House,  but  might  have  been  a  resi- 
dence of  Lord  Chesterfield  or  some  of  his  con- 
temporaries. Passing  through  it  we  stood  at 
the  edge  of  a  large  bare  common  which  at  first 
we  mistook  for  Blackheath.  B$ck  into  the 
park  again  we  followed  the  shaded  path  beside 
the  wall  where  had  stood  Montague  House,  the 
residence  of  poor  persecuted  Queen  Caroline, 
whose  enforced  divorce  by  George  IV  was  more 
inhuman  than  that  of  Catherine  of  Aragon  by 
the  Bluebeard  Hal.  It  was  here  that  the  so- 
called  "  Delicate  Investigation "  was  held. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  investigated,  and 
therefore  no  real  evidence  against  her  charac- 
ter could  be  obtained.  There  remains,  near 
the  wall  a  sunken  stone  bath  which  is  called 
hers,  and  may  have  been  a  fountain  in  her  gar- 
den. 


Greenwich  311 

Blackheath,  happily,  has  not  yet  been  swal- 
lowed by  the  jerry-builders,  but  still  retains 
enough  of  its  ancient  character  to  permit  full 
play  to  our  fancy  visions  of  the  dramatic  events 
that  have  occurred  upon  it.  In  those  letters 
from  Lord  Chesterfield  to  his  son,  which  re- 
veal the  utter  absence  of  real  character  under 
the  diplomatic  veneer  which  was  in  his  estima- 
tion all  that  a  courtier  required,  he  refers  to 
Brunswick  House,  his  Blackheath  residence, 
as  "  Babiola."  The  walk  on  which  wre  had 
emerged  through  the  Ranger's  House  is  known 
as  Chesterfield  Walk.  Brunswick  House  and 
Montague  House  both  adjoined  the  park. 

The  Watling  Street  crossed  Blackheath 
about  where  the  London  Road  now  is.  Many 
ancient  barrows  of  British  and  Roman  origin 
remained  until  lately.  When  opened  they  fre- 
quently contained,  if  anything,  merely  a  few 
bones,  which  obtains  wherever  they  exist.  One 
was  permitted  to  remain  in  the  center  of  Black- 
heath.  This  was  the  scene  of  the  gathering  of 
the  rebellious  followers  of  Wat  Tyler  before 
their  march  to  London.  The  sad  and  infamous 
causes  of  this  uprising  are  too  well  known  to 
be  reiterated  here — and  so  indeed  are  the  re- 
sults— but  the  oppression  of  the  people  by  the 
fortune-favored  classes  always  brings  an  ache 
to  our  hearts.  Doubtless  the  Puritan  and 


312     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Huguenot  blood  in  us  still  contains  traces  of 
our  ancestors'  experiences. 

In  the  barrow  Jack  Cade  stuck  his  flag  when 
his  thirty  thousand  Kentish  men  also  met  here, 
and  this  clerk  of  Chatham,  pretender  to  royal 
birth,  also  led  his  mob  to  the  gates  of  London, 
shouting  bombastically:  "Now  is  Mortimer 
lord  of  this  citie !  " 

And  here  camped  Henry  VI  with  his  Lan- 
castrian forces  en  route  to  the  battle  of  St. 
Albans. 

When  Lord  Audley  and  his  Cornish  troops 
came  this  way  looking  for  trouble  they  were 
met  and  defeated  at  Blackheath  by  the  ajuny  of 
the  seventh  Henry.  A  prettier  ceremony  was 
that  which  for  many  centuries  was  customary 
— the  meeting  of  distinguished  foreign  visitors 
to  the  Court  of  England  by  royalty  in  person 
or  adequate  representatives — was  effected  with 
much  pomp  and  splendor  on  Blackheath,  and 
the  guests  were  conducted  in  state  to  London. 

"  I  think  I  should  not  have  liked  that,"  said 
practical  Diana.  "  After  a  dusty  drive  of  sev- 
eral days  from  Dover,  I  should  have  preferred 
to  postpone  the  royal  welcome  until  I  had  been 
shown  to  my  apartments  at  the  palace  and  had 
a  chance  to  bathe  and  dress." 

In  1400,  when  Manuel,  Emperor  of  Con- 
stantinople, came  with  gifts  and  a  request  for 


Greenwich  313 

aid  against  the  Sultan  Bajazet,  with  whom  he 
believed  himself  unable  to  cope  without  the 
assistance  of  the  great  white  Christian  king, 
Henry  IV  met  him  here.  Sixteen  years  after 
his  coming  the  Holy  Roman  Emperor  Sigis- 
mund,  who  had  married  a  relative  of  Henry  V, 
was  also  welcomed  at  Blackheath  and  escorted 
to  Lambeth  Palace. 

When  Henry  returned  from  Agincourt  the 
people  of  London  could  not  wait  to  greet  him 
there,  so  the  mayor  and  four  hundred  citizens 
clad  in  scarlet  robes  with  red  and  white  hoods 
acclaimed  him  here.  This  picture  thrills  with 
its  enthusiasm. 

So  let  him  land 

And  solemnly  see  him  set  on  to  London. 
So  swift  a  space  hath  thought,  that  even  now 
You  may  imagine  him  on  Blackheath ; 
Where  that  his  lords  desire  him,  to  have  borne 
His  bruised  helmet  and  his  bended  sword, 
Before  him,  through  the  city :  he  forbids  it, 
Being  free  from  vainness,  and  self -glorious  pride; 
Giving  full  trophy,  signal,  and  ostent, 
Quite  from  himself  to  God.     But  now  behold 
In  the  quick  forge  and  workinghouse  of  thought, 
How  London  doth  pour  out  her  citizens ! 
The  mayor,  and  all  his  brethren,  in  best  sort, 
Like  to  the  senators  of  the  antique  Rome, 
With  the  plebeians  swarming  at  their  heels, 
Go  forth  and  fetch  their  conquering  Caesar  in . 


314     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

How  different  his  return  a  few  years  later ! 

Cardinal  Campeius,  who  came  as  the  pope's 
emissary  regarding  the  divorce  of  Henry  VIII 
from  Catherine,  was  met  on  Blackheath  by  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk  and  his  suite. 

In  his  delightful  letters  to  Richard  Bentley, 
Horace  Walpole  writes:  "  I  was  charmed  lately 
at  a  visit  I  made  to  the  Cardigans  at  Black- 
heath.  Would  you  believe  that  I  had  never 
been  in  Greenwich  Park?  I  never  had,  and  am 
transported!  Even  the  glories  of  Richmond 
and  Twickenham  hide  their  diminished  rays." 

Charles  II,  returned  and  about  tojbe  re- 
stored, came  hither  on  the  Watling  Street, 
passed  through  the  ranks  of  the  Army  of  the 
Restoration,  and  was  welcomed  by  Sir  Henry 
Lee,  of  Woodstock.  Instead  of  the  homes 
of  wealthy  and  distinguished  Londoners,  the 
houses  now  surrounding  Blackheath  are  chiefly 
boarding  schools  and  lodging  houses. 

The  body  of  General  Wolfe  was  borne  hither 
after  his  gallant  fight  at  Quebec  and  was  in- 
terred in  the  parish  church  in  Greenwich,  where 
a  memorial  window  to  him  was  installed. 

We  entered  the  park  again.  "  I  thought 
we  came  to  Greenwich  to  dine  on  whitebait. 
I  am  getting  very  tired  and  ravenously  hungry. 
How  can  we  find  the  town  and  something  to 
eat? " 


Greenwich  315 

"  I  confess  it  looks  as  though  we  should  be 
'  dining  with  Duke  Humphrey  '  to-day.  If  we 
go  back  to  the  Ranger's  House  we  can't  have 
anything  more  substantial  than  tea  and  sand- 
wiches. Here  comes  an  empty  cab ! " 

The  cabman  proved  himself  a  friend  in  need 
and  in  deed.  He  would  not  allow  us  to  leave 
the  park,  however,  until  we  had  seen  the  feeble 
attempt  at  an  oak  which  is  called  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's, but  is  in  reality  a  tall  stump  covered 
with  ivy.  He  saw  to  it  also  that  we  visited  the 
"  remains  of  a  Roman  villa,"  which  was  a  not 
very  large  hole  in  the  ground  and  might  have 
served  somebody  as  a  well,  had  it  contained  that 
requisite  in  a  well — water.  He  drove  us  then 
past  Vanbrugh  "  Castle "  outside  the  park, 
which  had  been  built,  we  supposed,  by  that 
clever  Sir  John  Vanbrugh,  who,  having  been 
born  in  the  Bastille,  came  to  England  in  his 
youth,  and  became  distinguished  in  many  ways. 
Gifted  with  courtly  manners,  he  was  for  many 
years  a  brilliant  social  light  in  England,  of 
whom  no  breath  of  scandal  was  whispered.  He 
was  distinguished,  moreover,  as  a  successful 
playwright.  Even  Pope  and  Swift,  "  the  two 
best  haters  of  the  time,"  could  not  quite  justify 
themselves  in  throwing  the  acid  of  their  wit 
upon  him.  Vanbrugh  was  a  successful  but 
not  a  great  architect,  although  this  "  castle  " 


316     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

at  Greenwich,  which  became  his  home  when  he 
had  been  appointed  secretary  to  the  commis- 
sion for  endowing  Greenwich  Hospital,  is  full 
of  charm.  More  pretentious  are  Castle  How- 
ard in  Yorkshire,  and  that  which  he  was  com- 
missioned to  build  for  Queen  Anne — Blen- 
heim. 

And  now  at  last  was  there  hope  of  satisfying 
our  prodigious  appetites.  At  the  Old  Ship 
Tavern  we  were  offered  a  balcony  overhanging 
the  Thames,  which  we  gleefully  accepted.  We 
had  not  long  to  wait,  for  a  large  private  party 
was  being  feasted  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms, 
and  as  whitebait  in  excess  of  their  capacity 
had  been  prepared,  we  profited  thereby.  Our 
servitor  was  of  a  type  presumably  peculiar  to 
Greenwich  and  the  Old  Ship.  He  was  a  negro, 
clad  in  the  cast-off  evening  clothes  of  some 
gentleman  many  sizes  larger  than  he.  We 
tried  vainly  not  to  smile  while  he  was  present. 

"  I  believe,"  hazarded  Sonia,  "  that  his  en- 
tire wardrobe  descended  to  him  from  Mr. 
Gladstone.  That  cravat,  which  is  so  big  and 
black  and  which  he  has  so  much  difficulty  in  re- 
straining from  climbing  up  over  his  left  ear, 
could  not  have  been  the  property  of  anybody 
but  the  '  grand  old  man.' ' 

We  had  become  accustomed  to  coarse  napery 
and  the  spots  of  some  one  else's  meal,  also  to 


Greenwich  317 

the  absence  of  serviettes ;  but  when  a  great  plat- 
ter of  golden  brown  fish  was  laid  before  us, 
aromatic  and  steaming,  with  an  accompani- 
ment of  boiled  potatoes  and  cucumber  salad, 
we  were  quite  content. 

'What  is  whitebait?"  Sonia  asked  while 
she  daintily  caught  one  on  her  fork. 

"  One  of  our  books  says  they  are  the  '  small 
fry '  of  herring ;  but  it  seems  this  supposition 
was  at  one  time  threshed  out  in  Parliament 
and  the  Piscicuolos  minutos  were  declared  to 
be  little  fishes  that  never  grow  larger  than  this. 
This  part  of  the  river  seems  to  be  their  best 
feeding  ground,  and  that  is  why  the  cabinet 
ministers  decided  to  come  down  here  for  their 
banquets  which  celebrate  the  close  of  Parlia- 
ment. When  it  was  supposed  that  their  feast- 
ing consumed  hundreds — thousands — of  baby 
herrings  it  was  discontinued  as  being  cruel  and 
a  direct  infringement  on  laws  which  preclude 
the  catching  of  any  fish  smaller  than  a  certain 
size.  After  a  lapse  of  fifteen  years  the  Disraeli 
government  revived  the  custom,  it  having  been 
demonstrated  to  their  conscientious  satisfac- 
tion that  the  fishes  were  not  '  small  fry,'  but 
full-sized  fry." 

:<  I  am  glad  of  that.  It  has  always  required 
a  little  strength  of  purpose  for  me  to  swallow 
with  equanimity  so  many  heads,  eyes — and  I 


318     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

should  hate  to  think  I  were  responsible  for  the 
slaughter  of  so  many  innocents.  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  want  to  eat  any  more,  just  because  we 
have  been  talking  about  it." 

'  You  eat  caviare,  do  you  not?  and  squab 
chicken?  and  have  I  not  seen  you  wear  baby 
lamb?  If  I  had  to  suffer  a  violent  death,  I 
should  rather  have  it  happen  in  infancy;  there 
would  not  be  so  much  of  me  to  die." 

"  Gladstone  "  went  for  what  he  called  des- 
sert, and  we  waited  some  time  for — cheese ;  but 
we  were  eager  to  see  the  Palace  of  Placentia 
and  brooked  no  further  delay  due  to  cheese. 

When  Humphrey  of  Gloucester  died,  his 
manor  and  lands  became  crown  property.  By 
Edward  IV  the  mansion  was  enlarged  and 
until  the  commencement  of  the  Civil  War  it 
continued  to  be  a  royal  residence.  Henry 
VIII  was  born  here  and  so  were  his  daughters 
Mary  and  Elizabeth. 

We  have  records  of  many  sumptuous  enter- 
tainments that  were  given  about  this  time  at 
Greenwich  Palace,  as  it  had  then  come  to  be 
called.  One  chronicler  states  that  in  1513  there 
was  performed,  "  disguising  after  the  manner 
of  Italic,  a  maske,  a  thing  not  seen  afore  in 
England,  on  the  daie  of  the  Epiphany  at 
night." 

A  few  years  later  the  boys  of  St.  Paul's 


Greenwich  319 

School  acted  a  morality  at  Greenwich  in  honor 
of  certain  French  ambassadors  come  in  quest 
of  Henry's  aid  against  Charles  V  of  Spain. 
After  the  royal  banquet  "  the  king  led  the  am- 
bassadors into  the  great  chamber  of  disguis- 
ings;  and  in  the  end  of  the  same  chamber  was 
a  fountain,  and  on  one  side  was  a  hawthorn 
tree  all  of  silk  with  white  flowers,  and  on  the 
other  side  was  a  mulberry  tree  full  of  fair  ber- 
ries, all  of  silk."  Atop  of  the  hawthorn  tree 
were  the  arms  of  England  compassed  with  the 
order  of  St.  Michael,  and  on  the  mulberry  the 
arms  of  France  within  a  garter.  About  this 
marble  and  gold  fountain  were  bunches  of 
rosemary,  "  fretted  in  braydes  laid  on  gold,  all 
the  sides  set  with  roses  on  branches  as  they 
were  growing  about  this  fountain.  On  the 
benches  sate  eight  fair  ladies  in  strange  attire." 
While  the  infamous  assemblage  of  bishops — 
London,  Winchester,  Lincoln,  Bath,  and  Wells 
—were,  under  Canterbury  Cranmer's  direc- 
tion, finding  cause  for  the  divorce  of  the  Ara- 
gonnaise  from  her  royal  spouse,  Catherine's 
maid  of  honor  was  waiting  at  Greenwich  Pal- 
ace for  the  news  that  should  permit  her  to  be 
queen.  Four  days  before  that  verdict  she  was 
brought  in  state  to  the  Tower  by  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  the  city  companies  "  with  one  of 
those  splendid  exhibitions  upon  the  water  which 


320 

in  the  days  when  the  silver  Thames  deserved  its 
name,  and  the  sun  could  shine  down  upon  it 
out  of  the  blue  summer  sky,  were  spectacles 
scarcely  rivaled  in  gorgeousness  by  the  world- 
famous  wedding  of  the  Adriatic.  The  river 
was  crowded  with  boats,  the  banks  and  the  ships 
in  the  pool  swarmed  with  people,  and  fifty  great 
barges  formed  the  great  procession,  all  blaz- 
ing with  gold  and  banners."  The  queen-elect's 
barge  was  preceded  by  "  a  foyst  or  wafter  full 
of  ordnance,  in  which  was  a  great  dragon  con- 
tinually moving  and  casting  wildfire,  and  round 
about  the  foyst  stood  terrible  monsters  and 
wild  men,  casting  fire  and  making  hideous 
noise."  The  king  awaited  her  at  the  Tower 
steps. 

This  marriage,  however,  was  not  liked  by  the 
ecclesiastics,  and  in  those  days  the  church  had 
power  to  make  the  divine  right  of  kings  seem 
but  a  poor  thing.  Attached  to  the  Royal 
Chapel  at  Greenwich  was  a  convent  of  Observ- 
ants. At  this  time  Father  Forest  was  warden, 
who,  having  been  Catherine's  confessor,  re- 
mained faithful  to  her  interests  and  proclaimed 
from  the  pulpit  his  condemnation  of  the  mar- 
riage. Cromwell  had  not  been  spared  either; 
but  Cromwell  had  his  revenge.  The  priest  was 
summoned  to  the  court.  His  zeal  proved  to  be 
greater  than  his  knowledge  of  ministerial  meth- 


This  great-hearted  Little  fighter. 


Greenwich  321 

ods.  Cromwell  received  him  graciously,  as  did 
the  king;  and  we  can  see  fair  Anne  with  a 
smirk  on  her  face  and  hatred  in  her  small  heart. 
This  tolerance  Father  Forest  mistook  for  fear 
of  his  power  and  promptly  lost  his  head,  figura- 
tively speaking.  The  literal  loss  came  ulti- 
mately, for  he  perished  at  the  stake. 

Another  priest,  Father  Peto,  afterwards 
cardinal,  preached  in  the  Royal  Chapel  at 
Greenwich  in  denunciation  of  Henry  and  this 
marriage.  He  foretold,  moreover,  the  licking 
of  his  blood  by  dogs  when  the  king  should  be- 
come a  corpse.  And  when  the  great  body  lay 
at  Syon  House,  this  horrid  prediction  was  ful- 
filled. 

In  this  same  "  Friars  Chapel,"  as  Shak- 
speare  calls  it,  Henry's  christening  had  oc- 
curred. Elizabeth's,  too,  was  solemnized  with 
great  pomp.  The  "  Manor  of  Pleasaunce  " 
was  one  of  her  favorite  residences.  May  Day, 
the  great  annual  holiday,  was,  during  her  time, 
always  observed  at  Greenwich  with  elaborate 
festivities.  Here,  too,  she  received  the  deputies 
from  the  United  Provinces, 

They  whom  the  rod  of  Alva  bruised, 
Whose  crown  a  British  queen  refused — 

come  to  offer  her  sovereignty  of  their  crushed 
but  still  courageous  lands. 


322     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

Hentzner,  a  German  traveler  who  recorded 
many  of  his  impressions,  saw  Queen  Bess  in 
1598,  in  her  "  dress  of  white  silk  with  pearls  as 
large  as  beans,  a  small  crown  on  her  "  (sixty- 
five-years-old)  "  red  tresses,  and  the  long  train 
of  her  robe  borne  by  a  marchioness."  It  was 
at  Greenwich,  also,  that  Raleigh  first  inter- 
viewed her  and  became  immortal  by  means  of 
a  muddied  coat.  Only  a  part  of  the  crypt  re- 
mains of  the  palace  as  it  was  then. 

James  I  made  notable  additions  to  the  pal- 
ace ;  but  the  Queen's  House,  intended  for  Anne 
of  Denmark — and  which  she  called  her  "  house 
of  delight " — was  not  completed  until  later, 
when  Inigo  Jones  was  given  the  commission. 
Henrietta  Maria,  who  lived  in  such  troublous 
times,  preferred  Greenwich  to  all  the  other 
royal  residences  and  came  here  whenever  she 
could. 

When  Charles  II  became  the  national  "  new 
broom "  he  did  a  few  good  things,  fortu- 
nately, for  he  did  so  many  unpleasant 
things  and  left  undone  so  much  that  was 
necessary. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Sonia,  "  that  Americans 
must  have  a  large  proportion  of  royal  blood  in 
their  circulatory  system,  for  where  else  could 
they  have  obtained  their  incurable  propensity 
for  tearing  down  perfectly  good  buildings  in 


Greenwich  323 

order  to  see  new  ones  of  their  own  planning 
arise? " 

Sonia  may  be  mistaken ;  but  certain  it  is  that 
King  Charles,  finding  Greenwich  Palace  in 
need  of  repair,  pulled  it  down,  and  began  to 
erect  a  new  one.  Pepys  saw  the  plans,  and  his 
frugal  soul  was  shocked  at  the  cost;  but  only 
one  wing  of  it  was  completed  during  Charles's 
sovereignty.  One  of  the  good  things  for  which 
we  are  grateful  to  Charles  was  the  planning 
and  planting  of  the  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
eight  acres  that  constitute  Greenwich  Park. 
Summoned  from  his  continental  labors  was 
the  great  landscape  gardener,  Le  Notre,  whose 
skill  is  still  exemplified  in  the  parks  of  Ver- 
sailles, Chantilly,  Meudon,  Saint-Cloud,  Fon- 
tainebleau,  St.  Germain-en-Laye,  and  Sceaux 
in  France ;  in  Rome,  the  Vatican  Gardens,  the 
Quirinal,  Villa  Albani,  Villa  Ludovisi,  and 
Villa  Doria  Pamphili;  in  London,  St.  James 
and  Kensington. 

Diana  gasped  when  we  read  this  list :  "  What 
a  record !  Any  one  would  have  been  enough  to 
make  him  famous.  And  I  never  heard  his 
name  until  now! " 

A  still  greater  achievement,  however,  helps 
to  balance  Charles's  account  with  England. 
Since  the  Ptolemies  astronomical  observations 
of  importance  had  been  made  not  only  by  su- 


324     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

perstitious  shepherds,  but  by  studious  men. 
The  Greeks  and  Arabs  were  more  assiduous  for 
many  years  than  others.  At  length  the  neces- 
sity for  an  observatory  was  felt  and  to  a  Dane, 
Tycho  Brahe,  is  due  the  distinction  of  having 
constructed  the  first  one  (in  1576  on  the  island 
of  Hveen  near  Copenhagen).  He  called  it 
"  Uranienborg  "  (city  of  the  heavens) .  Then 
England  began  to  awaken.  The  news  that  Sir 
J.  Moore  proposed  erecting  at  his  own  expense 
an  observatory  at  Chelsea  came  to  Charles's 
ears ;  and  as  he  then  had  Greenwich  "  on  the 
brain  "  he  straightway  commanded  that  one  be 
placed  on  a  certain  hill  in  Greenwich  Park, 
which  would  lift  the  celestial  observer  a  hun- 
dred and  eighty  feet  nearer  the  stars.  The 
first  "  astronomcial  observator,"  Flamsteed,  of 
Denby  in  Derbyshire,  had  already  proved  his 
fitness  for  the  position  in  a  notable  book:  "  The 
True  and  Apparent  Places  of  the  Planets 
when  at  Their  Greatest  Distances  from  the 
Earth."  Flamsteed  made  his  observations 
from  the  Queen's  House  until  July,  1676, 
when  the  observatory  was  completed.  He  was, 
alas!  ill  paid  and  overworked.  One  hundred 
pounds  a  year  was  his  stipend;  and  he  was 
obliged  to  supply  his  own  instruments.  It  was 
royally  decreed  that  he  "  apply  himself  with 
the  most  exact  care  and  diligence  to  rectifying 


Greenwich  325 

the  tables  of  the  motions  of  the  heavens  and  the 
places  of  the  fixed  stars  in  order  to  find  out  the 
much-desired  longitude  at  sea  for  perfecting 
the  art  of  navigation."  The  scope  of  this  ob- 
servatory has,  without  deviating  from  this  pol- 
icy, been  so  extended  as  to  include  photo- 
graphic and  spectroscopic  observations  of  the 
greatest  value  to  science.  Flamsteed  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  man  whose  name  is  more  widely 
known.  Edmund  Halley  was  a  friend  of  Sir 
Isaac  Xewton,  and  but  for  his  encouragement 
the  manuscript  setting  forth  Newton's  theories 
regarding  falling  apples  and  boiling  tea-ket- 
tles might  never  have  been  published.  In  1704 
Halley,  after  many  years  of  close  study  on 
the  subject,  boldly  predicted  that  a  certain 
comet  which  had  flashed  across  the  heavens 
twenty  years  before  would  reappear  after  an 
absence  of  seventy-six  years.  He  was  dead  in 
1758,  but  the  comet  which  forever  bears  his 
name  appeared  exactly  as  he  had  foretold. 

Charles's  palace  at  Greenwich  remained  in- 
complete until  the  time  of  William  and  Mary, 
who,  after  the  great  naval  victory  of  La  Hogue 
—England's  first  defeat  of  the  French  since 
Agincourt  —  when  so  many  seamen  were 
wounded,  it  was  determined  to  erect  a  great 
naval  hospital  at  Greenwich  as  a  grateful  me- 
morial and  also  as  a  means  of  relief  to  injured 


326     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

or  infirm  sailors.  Sir  Christopher  Wren  gra- 
tuitously offered  his  services  as  architect,  and 
the  great  hospital  arose  where  Placentia  had 
been.  The  funds  for  this  undertaking  were 
furnished  from  many  sources.  The  king  gave 
liberally,  as  did  many  of  his  wealthy  subjects; 
Parliament  made  certain  grants,  and  fines 
were  imposed  with  renewed  assiduity  upon 
smugglers;  a  duty  of  sixpence  per  month 
was  exacted  from  all  seamen;  and  when  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  George  II  the  Earl  of  Der- 
wentwater  was  attainted  and  executed  for 
participating  in  the  rebellion  of  1715,  his 
estates  were  made  over  to  the  hospital  fund, 
which  amounted  to  eighteen  thousand  pounds 
per  annum.  At  Chatham,  Elizabeth  had  es- 
tablished a  chest,  to  which  all  seamen  were 
compelled  to  contribute  from  their  wages  to 
provide  pensions  for  their  disabled  fellows; 
this  was  transferred  to  Greenwich  Hospital 
a  century  after  its  founding.  The  hospital 
was  completed  in  1705,  Evelyn,  then  Treas- 
urer of  the  Navy,  having  laid  the  first  stone; 
at  which  time  a  hundred  disabled  seamen 
were  admitted.  Three  years  later  the  number 
had  increased  to  three  hundred  and  fifty.  The 
compulsory  contributions  of  seamen  in  service 
was  remitted  in  1834,  a  yearly  appropriation 
of  twenty  thousand  pounds  being  substituted 


Greenwich  327 

from  the  endowment.  By  1865  the  income 
had  reached  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds,  and  the  number  of  pensioners  had 
grown  to  sixteen  hundred.  Then  an  odd  thing 
happened.  The  beautiful  Greek  buildings  had 
come  to  mean  to  the  aged  tars  what  the  beau- 
tiful almshouses  in  England  mean  to  the  aged 
poor.  The  governors  wisely  gave  the  inmates 
of  the  hospital  the  privilege  of  voting  for  its 
continuance  or  discontinuance.  The  noes  had 
it  to  a  man,  and  now,  be  their  homes  never  so 
humble,  the  pensioners  of  the  Greenwich  Hos- 
pital live  with  their  families,  and  the  charity 
provides  for  a  far  larger  number  than  before, 
thereby  giving  us  a  faint  notion  of  England's 
sea  power. 

These  beautiful  buildings  were  vacant  for 
five  years;  then  the  Royal  Naval  College, 
which  had  been  at  Portsmouth,  was  removed  to 
Greenwich,  as  were  also  the  School  of  Naval 
Architecture  and  the  Naval  Museum,  Kensing- 
ton. 

From  the  park  we  had  seen  the  Queen's 
House  with  its  colonnade,  so  we  made  it  the 
first  object  of  our  afternoon's  peregrination. 
This  is  now  the  school  in  which  a  thousand  boys, 
sons  of  seamen,  are  educated  for  the  navy  and 
for  merchant  service  at  the  expense  of  the  hos- 
pital funds.  In  the  yard  before  the  house  is 


a  full-sized  ship;  and  as  we  strolled  past,  the 
boys,  in  their  picturesque  uniforms,  were  being 
drilled  in  manning  the  yards. 

Only  a  small  part  of  the  quadrangular  group 
of  buildings  which  constitute  the  hospital,  as 
it  is  still  called,  is  shown  to  visitors.  The 
chapel,  which  had  been  rebuilt  in  recent  years 
after  a  fire,  did  not  detain  us  as  long  as  if  it  had 
been  the  original  one  in  which  Father  Forest 
and  Father  Peto  preached,  and  Henry  VIII 
and  Elizabeth  were  baptized.  It  had  been 
King  William's  idea  to  have  a  statue  of  his 
queen  in  the  inner  court,  but  it  was  never  ac- 
complished. This  was  unfortunate,  because,  as 
Macaulay  says :  "  Few  of  those  who  now  gaze 
on  the  noblest  of  European  hospitals  are  aware 
that  it  is  a  memorial  of  the  virtues  of  the  good 
Queen  Mary,  of  the  love  and  sorrow  of  Wil- 
liam, and  of  the  great  victory  of  La  Hogue." 

The  great  painted  hall  in  King  William's 
building  was  originally  the  dining  hall  of  the 
hospital.  The  depicting  on  the  ceiling  of  Wil- 
liam and  Mary  surrounded  by  their  embodied 
virtues  required  of  Sir  James  Thornhill  twenty 
years'  work.  Truly  are  the  dining  halls  in 
England  dignified,  stately  and  sumptuous  evi- 
dence of  the  Englishman's  undying  distinction 
between  the  art  of  dining  and  the  eating  of 
dinner.  From  the  Charterhouse  and  Middle 


Greenwich  329 

Temple  Hall  in  London,  from  the  lofty  pan- 
eled halls  at  Cambridge,  the  refectories  in  many 
an  ancient  abbey  and  castle,  from  Windsor  and 
Hampton  Court  to  the  hospital  at  Greenwich, 
dining  is  proven  to  be  an  almost  sacramental 
event.  This  Painted  Hall  at  Greenwich  is 
hung  with  canvases  depicting  the  many  vic- 
tories of  the  Mistress  of  the  Seas.  They  are 
mostly  bloody  affrays,  not  pleasant  to  femi- 
nine eyes;  but  we  hugely  enjoyed  some  of  the 
groups  of  little  boys  and  of  old  salts  whose 
beard-encircled  faces  reminded  us  of  him  who 
was 

— a  cook  and  a  captain  bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig 

And  a  bo's'n  tight,  and  a  midshipmite, 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

The  glee  of  the  old  sailors  was  as  great  as  that 
of  the  little  boys,  all  of  whom  were  utterly 
rapt  in  the  scenes  they  studied  so  minutely.  Of 
Lord  Nelson  we  were  reminded  when  we  saw 
the  portrait  of  him,  a  copy  of  that  by  Hoppner. 
We  had  not  known  that  a  whole  room  in  this 
building  was  devoted  to  relics  of  this,  Eng- 
land's greatest  admiral.  Infinitely  more  thrill- 
ing than  the  battle  scenes  in  the  Painted  Hall 
which  depicted  him  in  many  engagements  were 
the  simple  personal  belongings  of  the  man. 


330     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

There  was  the  tiny  coat  which  he  had  worn 
at  Trafalgar  when  he  was  shot.  Its  sleeve  was 
small  enough  for  a  boy  of  twelve  years.  There 
was  the  sword  which  was  placed  beside  his  body 
when  it  was  lying  in  state  in  the  Painted  Hall, 
before  being  borne  up  the  Thames  to  the  ad- 
miralty in  London.  His  ex  libris  even  Diana, 
the  collector,  looked  upon  with  misty  eyes  and 
a  heart  free  from  covetousness.  Saddest  of  all 
the  sad  and  tender  memorials  in  this  room  was 
the  original  letter  he  had  written  on  board  the 
Victory,  beseeching  the  English  nation  to  be 
kind  to  Lady  Hamilton  who  had  been  instru- 
mental in  obtaining  information  which  had 
more  than  once  enabled  him  to  win  great  vic- 
tories for  England.  This  great-hearted  little 
fighter,  as  tender  as  he  was  stern,  had  not  re- 
ceived the  Church's  sanction  to  his  marriage 
with  Emma  Hamilton, — who  surely  in  the  eyes 
of  God  was  his  beloved  wife, — had  not  realized 
how  much  bitter  obloquy  English  society  can 
visit  upon  a  woman  whose  unlegalized  love  is 
made  known. 

We  were  silent  as  we  descended  into  the 
quadrangle  again  and  went  on  to  Queen  Mary's 
building,  which  is  used  as  a  museum  for  ship 
models  of  all  sorts  and  kinds,  interesting  even 
to  us  who  had  no  technical  knowledge  of  their 
merits.  The  great,  battered  black  iron  Chat- 


Greenwich  881 

ham  Chest,  whose  mission  is  now,  happily,  only 
reminiscent,  we  really  coveted. 

"  I  feel,"  said  Sonia,  "  as  though  it  must  be 
filled  at  this  moment  with  thousands  of  pieces 
of  eight  and  bushels  of  gold  doubloons. 
Wouldn't  it  be  fun  just  to  run  our  hands 
through  to  the  bottom  and  let  the  gold  coin 
slip  slowly  through  our  fingers,  just  to  hear 
the  delicious  chink  of  it?  " 

Passing  out  of  the  gate  on  King  William 
Street  a  bobby  touched  his  hat  courteously. 
Diana  had  a  mischievous  impulse.  She  knew 
the  answer  to  her  question;  but  put  it  never- 
theless :  "  Officer,  will  you  kindly  tell  me  wheth- 
er the  next  boat  for  London  is  due  at  five- 
thirty?  " 

'  There  are  no  steamers  to  London,  Miss. 
You  can  take  the  electric  tram — 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  think,"  smiling  sweetly, 
"  we  prefer  to  return  by  boat." 

"  He  must  be  right,"  Sonia  demurred. 
"  Bobbies  always  know  everything." 

Diana  led  the  way  boldly  to  the  pier,  wrhere 
over  a  little  ticket  booth  was  a  sign  to  the  effect 
that  return  tickets  to  London  might  be  had  for 
one  and  six.  :<  Is  the  next  steamer  for  Lon- 
don at  five-thirty? " 

'  Yes,  Miss;  just  eight  minutes  to  wait." 

We  waited  on  the  landing,  where  so  many 


332     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

royal  comings  and  goings  had  occurred.  Poor 
King  Hal!  How  different  was  his  reception 
here  of  the  unprepossessing  fourth  bride-elect, 
Anne  of  Cleves,  who  came  from  Rochester  by 
water  to  her  reluctant  lord.  Of  Wolsey's 
gorgeous  approach  with  yeomen  standing  upon 
the  sails  of  his  barge  we  chatted  the  while  we 
watched  some  children  wading  along  the 
shingly  beach,  or  glanced  at  the  line  of  seamen 
who  sat  discussing  affairs  of  international  im- 
portance, as  though  they  had  been  a  special 
committee  of  Parliament  to  determine  upon 
serious  measures.  Some  people  went  down  a 
stairway  and  vanished  from  sight.  We  were 
curious  and  even  a  trifle  alarmed;  but  we  in- 
vestigated and  found  the  entrance  to  the  tunnel 
to  the  Isle  of  Dogs,  where  the  royal  kennels 
were  kept  for  many  years,  and  which  is  now 
wholly  given  over  to  shipping.  Then  our  little 
black  steamer  glided  up  to  the  landing  and  we 
returned  to  London  on  a  river  of  magic  and 
mystery,  flashing  here  with  great  shafts  of  light 
that  burst  through  heavy  clouds,  glooming 
there  darkly  under  the  heavy  masses  of  yellow- 
black  vapor.  Our  last  view  of  Greenwich  Hos- 
pital was  the  best  of  all.  Then  we  became  ab- 
sorbed in  the  fascination  of  the  shipping  which 
extends  all  the  way  to  London.  A  P.  and  O. 
steamer,  just  in  from  the  Orient,  put  us  in- 


Greenwich  333 

stantly  in  touch  with  India,  with  Rangoon, 
and  Mandalay.  And  there  were  steamers  from 
America,  from  Barbadoes,  and  from  the  utter- 
most parts  of  the  earth,  all  come  to  London, 
the  magnet  which  draws  unto  itself  the  richest 
and  best  that  the  lands  and  looms  of  all  coun- 
tries produce,  to  London,  the  market  of  the 
world. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford 

JUST  why  a  prominent  "  Beds "  town 
should  take  its  name  from  an  outlaw  and 
robber  who  was  hated  as  much  as  he  was  feared 
is  difficult  to  imagine.  The  town  itself  is  almost 
as  ancient  as  the  Chiltern  Hills,  which  rear 
their  sometimes  bald  heads  near  by.  Before 
the  Romans  constructed  that  wonderful  road 
from  Dover  to  London  and  thence  to  Holy- 
head,  the  Britons  had  aggregated  a  few  of 
their  mud-and-straw  huts,  and  called  the  ham- 
let Maes  Gwyn,  or  White  Field,  because  when 
they  dug  a  stake  hole  or  turned  the  soil  for 
planting  "  corn  "  they  found  it  to  be  white 
chalk  in  many  places  rather  than  the  rich  brown 
loam  prevalent  elsewhere. 

The  little  village  was  a  boon  to  the  Romans, 
who  lost  no  time  in  occupying  it  at  the  expense 

334 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford      335 

of  the  natives;  for  it  lay  at  the  junction  of  two 
of  their  greatest  military  roads  —  Watling 
Street  and  Icknield  Way.  The  Britons  had 
vainly  sought  in  their  ignorant  simplicity  to 
save  their  village  from  the  conquerors  by  sur- 
rounding it  with  earthworks. 

After  the  retirement  of  the  Romans  from  Al- 
bion the  Danes  had  their  innings;  and  to  them 
is  largely  due  the  sparsity  of  Roman  buildings. 
But  for  their  savage  lust  of  fire,  blood,  and 
loot,  there  might  be  fair  temples,  arches,  col- 
umns, and  colosseii  amid  the  green  of  rural 
England  to-day. 

Some  who  have  delved  into  the  meager  rec- 
ords of  ancient  history  assert  that  Dunstable's 
name  is  derived  from  Dunum  (hill)  and  Staple 
(market) .  "  In  England,  formerly,  the  king's 
staple  was  established  in  certain  ports  or  towns, 
and  certain  goods  could  not  be  exported  with- 
out first  being  brought  to  these  ports,  to  be 
rated  and  charged  with  the  duty,  payable  to 
the  king  or  public."  From  this  came  the  pres- 
ent meaning  of  "  staple  "  article  or  commodity. 

In  the  time  of  Henry  I  a  bold,  bad  bandit, 
whose  name  was  Dun  or  Dunninge,  gathered 
about  him  a  number  of  outlaws  who  so  terror- 
ized this  neighborhood  that  a  whole  forest  was 
burned  down  by  the  king's  command  in  order 
to  exterminate  this  sort  of  vermin  and  bring 


336     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

highway  knighthood  to  an  end.  The  meeting 
of  the  two  great  roads  in  the  center  of  this  for- 
est had  given  them  opportunity  in  plenty  for 
robbery  and  murder.  The  burning  of  the  for- 
est, however,  did  not  terminate  their  depreda- 
tions; of  which  more  anon.  To  return  to  the 
matter  of  Dunstable's  name:  In  the  town  is 
still  shown  a  cellar  which  is  alleged  to  be  the 
cave  used  by  Dun  for  stabling  his  horse  and  for 
a  place  of  retirement  when  justice  threatened  to 
overtake  him.  They  tell  of  a  post  to  which  a 
ring  and  a  staple  were  attached,  that  existed 
in  this  cave  several  hundred  years  after  Dun's 
death.  At  any  rate  there  are  a  ring  and  a  sta- 
ple on  the  ancient  arms  of  Dunstable;  so  why 
question  the  origin  of  the  town's  name? 

Near  Dunstable  upon  the  Down, 
There  is  an  ale-house,  and  but  one ; 
Not  far  from  hence,  if  we  may  credit 
Some  ancient  authors  that  have  said  it, 
Erst  dwelt,  to  make  the  story  brief, 
Old  Dun,  that  memorable  thief: 
Within  a  hollow,  under-ground, 
Apartments  still  are  to  be  found, 
Where  both  himself  and  horse  retreated, 
And  still  all  hues  and  cries  defeated. 

Thus  wrote  Butler,  author  of  the  famous 
"  Hudibras."    An  ancient  illuminated  manu- 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford      337 

script  contained  in  the  church  chest  portrays 
a  post  with  pendant  ring  and  staple.  There 
are  also  preserved  these  "  Verses  concerninge 
the  Name  and  Armes  of  Dunstaple,  1558." 

By  Houghton  Regis,  there,  where  Watlinge  Streete 
Is  crossed  by  Icknell  way,  once  grew  a  wood 
With  bushes  thick  o'erspread:  a  coverte  meete 
To  harbour  such  as  lay  in  waite  for  blood, 
There  lurkte  of  ruffians  bolde  an  hideous  route 
Whose  captaine  was  one  Dunne,  of  courage  stoute. 

No  travailer  almost  coulde  passe  that  way 

But  either  he  was  wounded,  rob'd,  or  kil'd 

By  that  leude  crewe,  which  there  in  secreete  lay: 

With  murthers,  theftes,  and  rapes,  their  hands  were 

fil'd, 

With  booties  ere  they  tooke,  ech  had  his  share ; 
Thus  yeare  by  yeare  they  liv'd  without  all  care. 

At  last  King  Henrie,  first  king  of  that  name, 
Toward  the  northern  partes  in  progresse  rode ; 
And  hearing  of  those  great  abuses,  came 
Unto  the  thicket  where  the  theeves  abode; 
Who  on  the  comminge  of  the  king  did  flie 
Each  to  his  house,  or  to  his  friende  did  hie. 

Wherefore  the  kinge  such  mischiefes  to  prevent, 
The  woode  cut  downe ;  the  waye  all  open  layde 
That  all  trew  men,  which  that  way  rode  or  wente, 
Of  Sodaine  sallyes  might  be  lesse  affrayde; 
And  might  descrie  theire  danger  ere  it  came, 
And  so  by  wise  forseighte  escape  the  same. 


338     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

This  done,  he  rear'd  a  poull  both  huge  and  longe 
In  that  roade-highway,  where  so  many  passe ; 
And  in  the  poull  let  drive  a  staple  stronge, 
Whereto  the  king's  own  ringe  appendant  was ; 
And  caused  it  to  be  publisht  that  this  thinge 
Was  done  to  see  what  thiefe  durst  steale  the  ringe. 

Yet  for  all  that,  the  ringe,  was  stol'n  away, 
Which,  when  it  came  to  learned  Beauclark's  eare, 
By  skylful  arte  to  finde,  he  did  assay 
Who  was  the  thiefe,  and  first,  within  what  shyre 
His  dwellinge  was,  which  this  bould  act  had  done, 
And  found  it  to  be  Bedfordshire,  anon. 

Next  in  what  hundred  off  that  shyre  might  dwell 
This  vent'rous  wighte,  Kinge  Henrie  caste  to  find ; 
And  upon  Mansfield  Hundred,  straight  it  fell, 
Which  being  founde,  he  after  bent  his  minde 
To  learn  the  parish,  and  by  like  skyll  tride 
That  he  in  Houghton  Regis  did  abide. 

Lastlie,  the  parish  knowne,  he  further  soughte 

To  find  the  verie  house  where  he  remaynde ; 

And  by  the  preceptes  of  his  arte  he  toughte ; 

That  by  one  widow  Dun  he  was  retayned ; 

The  widowe's  house  was  searched,  so  wil'd  the  kinge, 

And  with  her  sonne  was  founde,  staple  and  ringe. 

Thus  Beauclarke  by  his  arte,  founde  out  the  thiefe; 

A  lustie  tall  younge  man  of  courage  good, 

Which  of  the  other  ruffians  was  the  Chiefe ; 

That  closlie  lurked  in  that  waylesse  wood. 

Then  Dunne,  this  captain  thiefe,  the  widowe's  sonne, 

Was  hanged  for  the  feates  which  he  had  donne. 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford      339 

And  where  the  thicket  stoode,  the  kinge  did  build 

A  market  towne  for  saulfetie  of  all  those 

Which  travail'd  that  way,  that  it  might  them  yielde 

A  sure  refuge  from  all  thievishe  foes ; 

And  there  king  Henrie,  of  his  great  bountie, 

Founded  a  church,  a  schole,  and  priorie. 

And  for  that  Dunne,  before  the  woode  was  downe, 

Had  there  his  haunte,  and  thence  did  steale  away 

The  staple  and  the  ring,  thereof  the  towne 

Is  called  Dunstaple  untill  this  day; 

Also  in  armes,  that  corporation, 

The  staple  and  the  ringe  give  thereupon. 

To  the  outlaw  the  king  paid  the  compliment 
of  building  a  royal  mansion  where  the  splen- 
did trees  had  been  and  issuing  a  proclamation 
whereby  whosoever  would  was  invited  to  settle 
near  his  new  palace,  Kingsbury.  He  also 
offered  low  land  rents  and  sundry  privileges 
not  elsewhere  accorded;  as,  for  instance,  a 
semi-weekly  market  and  a  three-day  fair  at  the 
feast  of  St.  Peter-in-chains.  This  saint  was 
chosen  also  for  patron  of  a  priory  soon  after- 
wards established.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Dun 
appreciated  the  grim  humor  of  all  this  public 
acknowledgment  of  his  power.  The  Bedford- 
shire bugaboo  was  yet  to  be  conquered.  Of  him 
the  National  Register  of  Crime  records  many 
vivid  incidents. 


"  His  first  exploit  was  on  the  highway  to 
Bedford,  where  he  met  a  wagon  full  of  corn 
going  to  market,  drawn  by  a  beautiful  team  of 
horses.  He  accosted  the  driver,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  conversation  stabbed  him  to  the 
heart  with  a  dagger  which  he  always  carried 
with  him.  He  buried  the  body,  and  mounting 
the  wagon,  proceeded  to  the  town,  where  he 
sold  all  off  and  decamped  with  the  money.  One 
day,  having  heard  that  some  lawyers  were  to 
dine  at  a  certain  inn  in  Bedford,  about  an  hour 
before  the  appointed  time  he  came  running  to 
the  inn,  and  desired  the  landlord  to  hurry  the 
dinner,  and  to  have  enough  ready  for  ten  or 
twelve.  The  company  soon  arrived  and  the 
lawyers  thought  Dun  a  servant  of  the  house, 
while  those  of  the  house  supposed  him  to  be 
an  attendant  of  the  lawyers.  He  bustled  about, 
and  the  bill  being  called  for,  he  collected  it; 
and  having  some  change  to  return  to  the  com- 
pany, they  waited  for  his  return ;  but  growing 
weary  they  rang  the  bell  and  inquired  for  their 
money,  when  they  discovered  him  to  be  an  im- 
postor." After  many  exploits,  less  clever  and 
more  outrageous  than  that  of  the  lawyers'  ban- 
quet, Dun  and  his  band  became  such  a  source 
of  terror  that  the  sheriff  of  Bedford  sent  a  posse 
to  attack  him  in  one  of  his  retreats;  but  the 
sheriff  was  too  economical  of  men,  and  the  rob- 


The  gateway  in  all  that  remain*  of  the  old  Priory. 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford      341 

bers  completely  routed  the  emissaries  of  jus- 
tice, taking  eleven  of  them  prisoners  and  swing- 
ing them  on  near-by  trees  as  a  warning  to 
other  ambitious  sheriffs.  These  men  should 
have  been  made  cabinet  ministers,  so  deft  was 
their  ability  to  cope  with  any  situation.  Attired 
in  the  garb  of  the  sheriff's  men  whom  they  had 
hanged,  Dun  and  his  fellows  proceeded  to  the 
castle  of  one  of  the  county  nobility,  and  in  the 
king's  name  demanded  admission  in  order  to 
seek  for  that  renegade,  Dun.  After  searching 
throughout  the  house  keys  of  trunks  and  ward- 
robes were  demanded  and  the  merry  band  took 
all  they  could  carry  of  plate  and  jewelry.  The 
irate  nobleman  complained  to  Parliament,  and 
doubtless  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Times,  or  its 
predecessor,  and  after  the  official  wheels  had 
turned  far  enough  it  was  discovered  that  the 
trick  was,  indeed,  not  due  to  the  defection  of 
the  county  constabulary.  The  countryside  at 
last  ran  Dun  to  earth,  surrounded  his  place  of 
concealment,  and  posted  its  two  staunchest 
men  at  the  door.  Again  too  much  economy. 
Dun's  swift  blade  killed  them  both,  and  while 
the  smocked  ones  were  realizing  this,  he  bridled 
his  horse  and  forced  his  way  through  them. 
Then  the  farmers  bethought  them  of  pitch- 
forks, rakes  and  hoes ;  and  by  some  accident  they 
caught  up  with  him  and  dragged  him  from  the 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford      341 

bers  completely  routed  the  emissaries  of  jus- 
tice, taking  eleven  of  them  prisoners  and  swing- 
ing them  on  near-by  trees  as  a  warning  to 
other  ambitious  sheriffs.  These  men  should 
have  been  made  cabinet  ministers,  so  deft  was 
their  ability  to  cope  with  any  situation.  Attired 
in  the  garb  of  the  sheriff's  men  whom  they  had 
hanged,  Dun  and  his  fellows  proceeded  to  the 
castle  of  one  of  the  county  nobility,  and  in  the 
king's  name  demanded  admission  in  order  to 
seek  for  that  renegade,  Dun.  After  searching 
throughout  the  house  keys  of  trunks  and  ward- 
robes were  demanded  and  the  merry  band  took 
all  they  could  carry  of  plate  and  jewelry.  The 
irate  nobleman  complained  to  Parliament,  and 
doubtless  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Times,  or  its 
predecessor,  and  after  the  official  wheels  had 
turned  far  enough  it  was  discovered  that  the 
trick  was,  indeed,  not  due  to  the  defection  of 
the  county  constabulary.  The  countryside  at 
last  ran  Dun  to  earth,  surrounded  his  place  of 
concealment,  and  posted  its  two  staunchest 
men  at  the  door.  Again  too  much  economy. 
Dun's  swift  blade  killed  them  both,  and  while 
the  smocked  ones  were  realizing  this,  he  bridled 
his  horse  and  forced  his  way  through  them. 
Then  the  farmers  bethought  them  of  pitch- 
forks, rakes  and  hoes ;  and  by  some  accident  they 
caught  up  with  him  and  dragged  him  from  the 


342 

saddle.  But  he  clambered  up  again  and  cut  a 
way  through  the  crowd  with  his  sword.  It 
was  like  a  "  moving-picture  "  show.  Again  he 
was  pursued,  unseated,  and  led  them  a  chase  of 
two  miles  afoot.  Coming  to  a  river,  he  stripped 
off  his  clothes,  and  carrying  his  sword  between 
his  teeth  swam  toward  the  opposite  bank,  which 
he  found  to  be  thronged  with  his  pursuers.  A 
number  of  boats  were  pressed  into  service,  and 
he  repeatedly  fought  off  the  blows  of  impend- 
ing oars;  but  a  successful  blow  on  the  head 
from  one  of  them  caused  a  syncope.  Magnani- 
mously they  bore  him  to  a  surgeon,  before  tak- 
ing him  before  the  magistrate,  who  sent  him  to 
jail  under  strong  guard.  They  waited  for  him 
to  recuperate  somewhat,  and  then  he  was  led  to 
the  Bedford  Market  Place,  where  the  execu- 
tioners awaited.  Nine  times  Dun  felled  these 
two,  and  the  populace  had  rare  and  thrilling 
entertainment.  When  the  offender  was  at  last 
overcome  vengeance  in  the  king's  name  fol- 
lowed apace.  They  hacked  off  his  hands  at 
the  wrist  and  his  arms  at  elbow  and  shoulder. 
They  seemed  fearful  lest  he  might  not  yet  be 
dead;  and  so  the  entire  body  was  cut  up  into 
little  bits,  the  head  burned,  and  the  other  por- 
tions "  fixed  up  "  in  various  places,  triumph- 
antly asserting  that  the  arm  of  justice  was 
mighty,  if  a  bit  thick-headed  and  slow. 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford     343 

In  a  history  of  Dunstable,  Mr.  Derbyshire 
(of  Bedfordshire)  tells  graphically  of  Dun's 
exploits  and  end. 

Now  that  the  neighborhood  nightmare  was 
no  longer  to  be  feared,  the  colonizing  of  this 
part  of  the  county,  at  the  king's  invitation,  pro- 
ceeded apace.  A  priory  of  black  canons  was 
founded  in  honor  of  St.  Peter,  to  which  was 
granted  the  rents  from  the  town  of  Dunstable 
and  all  rights  and  privileges  of  this  town,  ex- 
cepting only  his  palace. 

"  It  would  seem,"  said  Sonia,  "  that  even  a 
pre-Plantaganet  king  could  have  foreseen 
trouble  between  town  and  monastery;  but 
kings  in  those  days  took  little  thought  for  the 
morrow.  The  line  of  least  resistance  was 
theirs." 

This  first  Henry,  however,  felt  a  genuine 
interest  in  the  town  of  Dunstable  whither  he 
came  several  times  with  his  vast  retinue  for 
Yuletide  festivities  and  other.  And  here  came 
Henry,  Duke  of  Normandy,  to  be  promised 
by  King  Stephen  the  throne  of  England. 

"  Old  Lackland,  the  penny  wise,"  laughed 
Diana,  "  did  not  like  Kingsbury  Palace,  so  he 
granted  it  and  its  garden  to  the  priory,  stipu- 
lating that  he  be  gratuitously  entertained 
whensoever  he  chose  to  visit  there.  Was  not 
he  a  magnanimous  old  dog?  " 


344     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

We  were  sitting  in  the  shady  courtyard  of 
the  Red  Lion,  waiting  for  luncheon  to  be  pre- 
pared. The  inn's  genial  proprietor,  over  whom 
apoplexy  heavily  hung,  had  shown  us  the  room 
just  above  where  we  now  were  resting  in  which 
Charles  I  had  slept  on  his  way  to  the  battle 
of  Naseby.  Perceiving  our  interest  he  showed 
us  also  an  old  tapestry  of  wondrous  Gobelin- 
like  blue,  and  his  many  little  treasures  of  porce- 
lain, of  silver,  and  of  rosewood  the  while  he 
confided  to  us  his  pride  in  his  only  son,  who 
had  gone  into  the  world  to  make  a  mark  and 
a  fortune.  His  wife  being  an  invalid,  mine 
host  himself  attended  to  the  preparation  of 
luncheon,  having  told  us  where  we  could  pro- 
cure local  histories  and  arms  china. 

Sonia  stroked  a  sleek  cat  as  she  read.  Diana 
now  and  then  interrupted  her  researches  by 
stooping  to  caress  a  somnolent  fox  terrier  who 
had  assumed  the  host's  duties  to  the  Red  Lion's 
guests. 

"  How  interesting!  "  exclaimed  Sonia  after 
a  long  silence.  '  We  must  go  to  the  church 
and  see  if  they  will  show  it  to  us." 

"  Show  what?  The  church?  Perhaps  it  is 
big  enough  to  show  itself." 

"  No !  the  pall.  Listen !  Once  upon  a  time 
there  was  in  connection  with  the  Dunstable 
church  a  fraternity  of  John  the  Baptist.  Early 


Dumtable  and  Fenny  Stratford     345 

in  the  sixteenth  century  there  was  presented  to 
the  fraternity  by  Henry  Fayrey  and  Agnes,  his 
wife,  a  curiously  wrought  altar  cloth.  Here 
is  what  an  ancient  document  says  of  it :  '  It  is 
made  of  the  richest  crimson  and  gold  brocade 
imaginable,  and  so  exquisitely  and  curiously 
wrought  that  it  puzzles  the  greatest  artists 
of  weaving  now  living  to  so  much  as  guess  at 
the  manner  of  its  performance.  It  is  six  feet 
four  inches  long  by  two  feet  two  inches  broad, 
from  whence  hangs  down  a  border  of  purple 
velvet  thirteen  inches  deep,  whereon  is  lively 
and  most  richly  worked  writh  a  needle  St.  John 
the  Baptist  between  fourteen  men  and  women ; 
under  the  foremost  is  written  Henry  Fayrey 
and  Agnes  Fayrey,  between  the  arms  of  the 
mercers.  Viz. — 

'  G  a  demi  virgin  with  her  hair  dishevelled, 
crowned,  issuing  out  (and  within  an  orte)  of 
clouds,  all  proper,  A  on  a  fess  comssone  B  and 
G  3  annulets  O  between  six  crosses  bottone  S. 

'  The  haberdashers  arms.  Barry  nebule  of 
6  A  and  B  on  a  bend  C  a  lion  passant  quad- 
rant O. 

*  And  on  a  shield  party  per  pale  O  and  B 
a  chevron  between  three  eagles  displayed  coun- 
terchanged,  as  many  lozenges — 

By  this  time  we  were  laughing  so  heartily 
that  the  fox  terrier  set  up  a  loud  barking,  eye- 


346     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ing  us  with  some  suspicion,  and  the  cheery  land- 
lord peeped  out  of  the  kitchen,  smiling  in  sym- 
pathy with  our  happiness.  Sonia  insisted  upon 
finishing  the  description.  '  Thus  are  the 
sides ;  but  at  the  ends  is  only  St.  John  between 
a  gentleman  and  his  wife.' ' 

"  I  would  not  have  believed  St.  John  capable 
of  coming  between  a  gentleman  and  his  wife," 
said  Diana,  refusing  to  become  serious  again. 

Nearly  two  centuries  ago  the  beautiful  cloth 
vanished,  and  none  knew  what  had  become  of 
it  until  1867,  when  a  clergyman  in  Suffolk,  who 
had  received  it  as  security  for  money  loaned 
to  a  fellow  cleric  thirty  years  previously,  was 
led  by  a  study  of  its  decoration  to  believe  that 
originally  it  had  been  made  for  some  Bedford- 
shire monastery.  The  fellow  cleric  had  died, 
and  as  he  left  no  heirs  the  Suffolk  dominie  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  the  cloth.  Corre- 
spondence elicited  the  fact  that  this  was  the 
long-lost  pall  of  crimson,  which  was  presum- 
ably taken  from  the  church  at  Dunstable  along 
with  other  loot  at  the  time  of  the  monastery's 
suppression. 

It  was  at  Dunstable  in  1224  that  Fawkes  de 
Brent,  a  notoriously  criminal  "  gentleman," 
was  fined  by  the  king's  justices  for  outrageous 
and  lawless  conduct  upon  many  occasions.  He 
was  a  sort  of  Brian  de  Bois-Guilbert,  and  when 


Dunstdble  and  Fenny  Stratford      347 

news  was  brought  him  of  the  justices'  ruling  he 
sent  a  company  of  his  adherents  to  Dunstable, 
giving  them  order  to  seize  at  least  one  of  the 
judges  and  conduct  him  without  undue  cere- 
mony to  his  castle  at  Bedford.  To  Henry  de 
Braybroke  fell  the  ignominy  of  being  hauled 
to  De  Brent's  stronghold.  When  the  king 
heard  of  it  he  came  with  several  of  his  lords 
and  Stephen  Langton  to  storm  the  castle.  An 
old  chronicle  describes  this  siege  at  length  in 
such  detail  as  would  delight  our  modern  school- 
boys. It  was  Scott  to  the  life,  with  its  man- 
gonels, its  barbicans,  its  falling  towers,  and  its 
final  fire.  The  beautiful  Rebecca  alone  was 
lacking  to  give  romance  to  the  fray.  Fawkes 
was  not  taken,  despite  the  royal  tactics;  but 
eventually  he  obtained  pardon  on  condition 
that  he  exile  himself  henceforth  from  England. 
Like  the  lay  fraternities  at  St.  Albans  and 
some  other  monasteries,  this  of  St.  John  at 
Dunstable  admitted  wealthy  and  distinguished 
members  to  whom  promise  of  prayers  for  their 
salvation  before,  during,  and  after  death  gently 
suggested  the  piety  and  all-round  advisability 
of  making  to  the  priory  generous  offerings, 
which — so  far  as  our  knowledge  extends — were 
never  refused  by  the  good  brothers,  as  pos- 
sessing ptomaine  possibilities.  Lord  Alan  de 
Hyde  and  Alice,  his  wife,  were  to  this  fraternity 


348     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

very  much  as  Duke  Humphrey  and  Jacqueline 
were  to  that  of  St.  Albans — a  source  of  rich 
revenue. 

Henry  III  and  his  queen,  Eleanor  of  Pro- 
vence, with  their  children  enjoyed  the  convent's 
hospitality  on  several  occasions.  At  one  of 
these  visits  their  majesties  were  presented  with 
a  golden  cup  and  the  little  prince  and  princess 
received  each  a  gold  buckle  from  the  prior. 
Needless  is  it  to  add  that  the  royalties  upon  all 
such  visits  made  costly  offerings  to  the  insti- 
tution. Once  they  were  accompanied  by  a 
papal  legate,  Cardinal  Attaboni,  and  Simon  de 
Montfort,  who  was  Attaboni's  brother-in-law. 
Again  Henry  brought  Richard,  King  of  Ger- 
many. 

A  Chere  Heine  Cross  was  erected  in  the  mar- 
ket place  at  Dunstable  by  Edward  I,  whose 
dead  queen  rested  a  night  at  the  priory  on  the 
long  way  to  London.  For  the  monastery's 
hospitality,  the  king  gave  to  the  prior  two  rich 
cloths  (bawdekyns)  and  a  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  of  wax.  The  cross  was  destroyed  by 
sportive  soldiers  in  command  of  the  Earl  of 
Essex  during  the  time  of  Charles  I,  while 
marching,  no  doubt,  to  Naseby.  This  same 
Edward,  who  had  erected  the  cross  and  who  was 
both  thoughtful  and  generous,  could  at  times 
be  royally  inconsiderate.  He  once  made  a  long 


Like  a  slender  white  arrow  the  great  Roman  road  pointed  northward. 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford      349 

stay,  accompanied  by  his  retinue,  at  St.  Albans 
and  at  Abbots'  Langley  near  by.  In  order  to 
feed  so  unaccustomed  a  house  party  the  market 
at  Dunstable  was  obliged  to  supply  butter, 
cheese,  eggs,  and  so  forth  ad  libitum,  with- 
out remuneration — that  went  to  the  already 
unjustly  rich  abbey — and  the  townsfolk 
of  Dunstable,  whose  purses  were  ready 
to  pay  for  their  purchases,  found  nought 
to  buy. 

At  the  psychological  moment  when  Wat 
Tyler's  rebellion  and  simultaneously  a  dozen 
others  began,  one  Thomas  Hobbes,  then  Mayor 
of  Dunstable,  boldly  led  his  burgesses  to  the 
priory  and  demanded  a  charter  of  liberties.  It 
was  granted  after  much  ado;  but,  of  course, 
when  things  had  settled  down  again  the  prior 
revoked  the  charter  under  plea  of  having  been 
coerced. 

"  It  was  in  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  in  the 
Dunstable  church,"  said  our  host,  who  chatted 
with  us  while  we  ate  mutton  chops  and  fresh 
peas,  "  that  Archbishop  Cranmer  proclaimed 
the  marriage  of  Henry  and  Catherine  to  have 
been  only  de  facto  and  not  de  jure,  and  conse- 
quently null  from  the  beginning."  The  queen 
was  at  Ampthill,  a  few  miles  away,  awaiting 
the  decision  quite  as  eagerly  as  did  at  Green- 
wich her  former  maid  of  honor. 


350     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

The  Archbishop 

Of  Canterbury,  accompanied  with  other 
Learned  and  reverend  fathers  of  his  order, 
Held  a  late  court  at  Dunstable,  six  miles  off 
From   Ampthill,   where  the   princess   lay ;   to  which 
She  oft  was  cited  by  them,  but  appear'd  not : 
And,  to  be  short,  for  not-appearance  and 
The  king's  late  scruple,  by  the  main  assent 
Of  all  these  learned  men  she  was  divorc'd, 
And  the  late  marriage  made  of  none  effect: 
Since  which,  she  was  removed  to  Kimbolton, 
Where  she  remains  now,  sick. 

At  Kimbolton  she  remained  until  death  re- 
leased her  less  than  three  years  afterwards. 
Even  in  death  was  she  thwarted.  Her  will 
requested  that  she  be  buried  in  a  convent  of  the 
Observants,  who  had  ever  been  faithful  to  her 
interests;  but  the  king  caused  her  body  to  be 
placed  in  the  abbey  church  at  Peterborough. 

Elizabeth's  journeyings  between  London 
and  Warwick  took  her  through  Dunstable. 
She  was  the  last  royal  visitor  in  the  town 
until  1841,  when  Queen  Victoria  and  Prince 
Albert  stopped  at  the  Sugar  Loaf  en  route 
to  Woburn  Abbey  for  a  visit  to  the  Duke  of 
Bedford. 

We  had  engaged  a  team  to  drive  us  as  far  as 
Fenny  Stratford,  about  twelve  miles  beyond 
Dunstable  on  the  Watling  Street.  Before 


starting,  however,  we  went  to  see  the  church, 
whose  conglomerate  architecture  is  as  amusing 
as  it  is  startling.  We  peeped  in  at  its  fine  Nor- 
man bays  and  walked  about  in  quest  of  some- 
thing human  and  authoritative  to  show  us  the 
church  chest,  with  its  precious  old  documents, 
and  the  pall  of  crimson  velvet;  but  we  were 
alone  among  the  myriad  monuments  to 
dead  and  gone  Chews.  Sunk  in  the  middle 
aisle  is  a  slab  to  the  memory  of  a  wo- 
man who  had  three  times  three  children  and 
twice  five. 

"  I  wonder  how  long  she  lived  after  the  sec- 
ond quintet?  "  Diana  said;  "  she  ought  to  have 
had  a  mausoleum  on  the  summit  of  a  hill  where 
race  suicides  most  do  congregate." 

The  gateway  is  all  that  remains  of  the  old 
priory,  save  a  few  beams  in  a  straw  factory 
within  the  inclosure  to  which  the  gate  presum- 
ably opens.  Straw  factories  have  to  be;  but 
what  a  pity  that  this  one  could  not  have  occu- 
pied the  halls  of  the  monastery,  and  all  the 
beauty  of  which  the  gatewray  suggests  much, 
might  serve  not  only  as  an  advertisement  to 
the  manufacturer,  but  as  an  aesthetic  blending 
of  past  idleness  with  present  industry. 

A  few  market  booths  stood  where  many  Lol- 
lards had  been  burned  and  where  William  Tils- 
worth,  during  the  reign  of  the  seventh  Henry, 


352     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

was,  for  the  simple  offense  of  advising  people 
to  read  the  Bible  in  English,  condemned  by  the 
Bishop  of  Lincoln  to  be  executed,  his  sinless 
daughter  being  compelled  to  light  his  pyre. 

"  I  hope,"  Diana  said,  "  there  is  somewhere 
a  list  of  the  men  and  women  whose  lives  have 
been  more  cruel  than  death,  who  have  played 
the  game  bravely  and  patiently  from  start  to 
finish!  A  peculiar  supercanonization  is  due 
them." 

An  uncompromising  lamp-post  now  arro- 
gantly occupies  the  spot  where  the  fair  Elea- 
nor cross  stood  to  be  martyred  in  revolutionary 
times. 

*  The  marvel  is,"  Sonia  mused,  "  not  that 
lamp-posts  and  straw  factories  exist,  but  that 
any  of  the  old  stones  should  yet  remain  one 
upon  another,  so  many  times  in  the  history  of 
this  land  have  lawlessness  and  lust  for  destruc- 
tion been  given  free  rein." 

Our  host  at  the  Red  Lion  recommended 
that  we  drive  up  on  the  Downs  before  pro- 
ceeding northward. 

"  Our  language  as  spoken  by  the  English 
retains  strong  traces  of  its  Teutonic  ancestry. 
We  go  up  on  the  Downs;  we  come  out  of  an 
inn ;  certain  trains  '  stop  to  set  down,  but  not 
to  take  up,'  and  the  prefix  that  in  German  we 
have  to  hold  in  our  hand  until  the  end  of  the 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford     353 

sentence  whereon  we  can  hang  it  comes;  an, 
auf,  hinter,  neb  en,  kin— 

Sonia,  always  ready  for  a  laugh,  unduly  en- 
couraged her  friend's  lingual  fldnerie;  but 
along  came  a  sturdy  cob  harnessed  to  the 
"  wagon  "  we  had  bespoken.  We  bade  a  cor- 
dial good-by  to  our  host,  drove  under  Charles 
I's  chamber,  and  proceeded  up  on  the  Downs. 
The  intense  whiteness  of  the  chalk  showing 
here  and  there  amid  the  flower-studded  grass 
was  a  novelty  to  us,  who  had  never  seen  the 
Shakspeare  Cliff  at  Dover.  Some  interesting 
remains  we  saw  of  British  earthworks;  and 
from  the  top  of  the  Downs  the  town  spread 
pleasantly  among  broad  fields. 

Like  a  slender  white  arrow  the  great  Roman 
road  pointed  northward  as  we  rumbled  along 
toward  Fennv  Stratford — the  second  Strat- 

«/ 

ford  of  our  acquaintance,  and  we  had  not  yet 
been  to  that  on  the  Avon.  There  was  no  dust 
and  the  steps  of  our  steed  rang  rhythmically 
on  the  flint.  We  marveled  at  meeting  so  few 
motors  on  so  perfect  a  highway.  A  deep  cut- 
ting in  the  chalk  just  beyond  Dunstable  had 
been  made  to  level  a  hill.  The  broad  rolling 
landscape  beyond  it  was  animated  here  and 
there  by  farm  life.  The  farmhouses  and  barns 
nearly  all  had  what  Diana  captioned  "  long- 
haired roofs."  Sometimes  we  mistook  hay- 


354     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

ricks  for  houses,  so  similar  were  they  in  color, 
shape  and  size.  '  The  only  difference,"  de- 
clared Sonia,  "  is  that  the  houses  sometimes 
have  chimneys  and  windows." 

"  What  a  pity,"  sighed  Diana,  "  that  we 
did  not  come  a  century  ago  by  stage  coach 
on  this  Great  North  Road!  We  might  have 
traveled  from  London  to  Chester  for  forty 
shillings  and  have  enjoyed  eight  days  like 
this,  just  driving  comfortably  along  a  fine 
road." 

"  I  think  I  should  even  like  to  have  been  a 
British  maiden,  peeping  from  the  forest  at  the 
army  of  Caesar  or  Suetonius,  glittering  with 
polished  helmets  and  spears,  flashing  gay  col- 
ors and  sounding  like  the  rustling  of  a  mighty 
forest  as  the  legions  of  infantry  marched,  or, 
with  its  chariots  and  battering  rams  drawn  by 
splendidly  caparisoned  Roman  horses,  rum- 
bling like  a  summer  storm.  I  wish  the  world 
had  not  turned  quite  so  fast !  " 

Some  of  the  old  posting  inns  still  remain 
beside  the  way;  but  they  have  fallen  into  de- 
crepitude and  instead  of  bustling  postboys 
and  unctuous  host,  the  proprietor  now  tilts 
back  against  the  wall  in  a  kitchen  chair,  watch- 
ing the  motors  dart  past  or  taking  an  afternoon 
nap. 

Brickhill  Church,  high  above  the  road,  has  a 


The  deep  red  of  a  bridge  took  on  a  deeper  tone  in  its 
mirror,  the  canal. 


Dunstable  and  Fenny  Stratford      355 

fine  tower.  A  long  gradual  climb  brought  us 
to  the  top  of  a  hill  from  which  the  view  should 
have  been  immortalized  by  Constable,  Gains- 
borough, old  Crome,  or  our  own  compatriot, 
George  Inness.  At  the  base  of  this  hill  the 
Roman  road  is  lost  in  the  curve  of  a  modern 
one;  but  the  straight  line  which  proclaims  the 
ancient  highway  is  recovered  about  a  mile 
south  of  Fenny  Stratford. 

At  the  Swan  in  this  village  we  were  hos- 
pitably received,  almost  as  though  we  had  been 
here  before.  Tea  was  served  to  us  with  home- 
made gooseberry  jam  and  a  great  plate  of  but- 
tered bread.  Phyllis,  the  pretty  daughter  of 
the  landlord  and  his  lady,  hovered  near  to  an- 
ticipate and  supply  our  needs.  Afterwards 
she  showed  us  her  garden,  sweet  with  lavender 
and  rosemary,  and  gay  with  hollyhocks  and 
larkspur.  We  had  little  time  before  the  "  fly  " 
should  come  to  drive  us  to  the  railway  station ; 
but  thanks  to  the  sweet  and  gracious  Phyllis, 
who  escorted  us,  we  had  a  walk  through  the 
lush  meadows  and  along  the  canal,  which  is 
here,  as  elsewhere  in  England,  beautiful  as  a 
river  and  at  this  time  was  free  from  traffic, 
although  that  could  not  have  detracted  from 
its  charm  in  the  late  afternoon.  Long  shadows 
were  athwart  the  fields,  thrown  by  the  low, 
ruddy  sun ;  the  deep  red  of  a  bridge  took  on  a 


356     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

still  deeper  tone  in  its  mirror,  the  canal.  The 
soft  air  and  circling  swallows  evoked  in  us  at 
once  a  sense  of  peace  and  of  irritation,  since 
we  must  leave  it  all  at  this  hour  of  subtle  en- 
chantment and  return  again  to  London. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

Canterbury 

SINCE  Geoffrey  Chaucer  wrote  of  Canter- 
bury, so  many  books  have  appeared,  so 
many  lectures  have  been  given,  and  so  many 
highly  colored  tales  have  we  heard  from  travel- 
ers, that  this  humble  pen  falters  when  rush- 
ing in  where  the  prerogative  is,  as  it  were, 
angelic.  Yet  unless  one  has  seen  Canterbury 
what  avails  aught  that  has  been  written,  pic- 
tured, or  said? 

Many  weeks  had  wafted  away  since  the  wild 
iris  had  challenged  us  to  fare  forth  from  Lon- 
don into  England.  Our  days  had  been  widely 
diversified,  but  invariably  full  of  pleasure  and 
-  we  believed  —  of  profit.  There  seemed, 
moreover,  no  prospect  of  exhausting  the  possi- 
bilities for  day  trips;  and  now  the  time  had 
come  when  all  social  "  obligations  "  had  been 

357 


358 


"  satisfied,"  when  London  was  uncomfortably 
hot,  and  the  West  End  had  begun  to  look  ac- 
tually empty.  Our  friends  were  leaving  town, 
and  at  length  we  determined  upon  seeing  some 
of  the  places  we  had  deemed  indispensable 
when,  midway  across  the  sea,  our  summer  of 
travel  in  Great  Britain  was  being  planned. 
The  Norfolk  Broads  now  being  our  bourne 
and  but  one  more  day  flight  from  London  left 
to  us,  the  pros  and  cons  of  Haslemere,  Tun- 
bridge  Wells,  and  Canterbury  were  seriously 
discussed.  A  coin  could  not  be  "  flipped " 
for  a  choice  of  three  places,  so  we  drew 
lots  and  Canterbury,  to  our  mutual  satisfac- 
tion, won. 

At  first  we  were  a  little  disheartened,  for  in 
our  ears  rang  remembered  rhapsodies  of 
friends:  "  The  quaintest  old  town!  "  "  the  most 
primitive  place  you  ever  saw!"  "absolutely 
unspoiled  by  modern  innovations !  "  We  had 
entered  the  station  'bus  of  the  Royal  Fountain 
Hotel,  knowing  by  experience  that  the  greatest 
economy  of  time,  energy,  and  errors  in  direc- 
tion is  attained  by  driving  from  the  railway  to 
the  center  of  a  town.  We  passed  under  the 
West  Gate  which  had  been  postcardally  known 
to  us  for  years.  But  for  this  the  city  of  Can- 
terbury was,  as  we  saw  it  thus  far,  wholly 
modern  and  unprepossessing. 


We  spied  the  Cathedral  beyond  Mercery  Lane. 


Canterbury  359 

American  automobiles  were  everywhere, 
their  occupants  displaying  a  singular  lack  of 
manners.  We  had  encountered  but  few  of  our 
compatriots  during  the  summer;  and  now  we 
were  very  much  ashamed  of  ourselves  for  wish- 
ing to  shun  these  loud-voiced  and  money-pro- 
claiming neighbors.  We  were  glared  at  as  we 
passed  through  the  hotel  corridors;  groups  of 
them  blockaded  the  street  door;  and  we  heard 
them  lauding  everything  American  from  cock- 
tails to  carbureters,  and  criticising  everything 
English  as  old  fogy  and  behind  the  times. 
Nothing,  however,  but  Canterbury  herself 
could  have  marred  our  day;  and  the  charm  of 
Canterbury  became  ineffable  once  we  accepted 
the  modernity  her  buildings  of  necessity  ex- 
pressed. This  very  condition  merely  served  to 
heighten  the  effect  of  her  many  reminders  of 
ancient  past. 

The  cathedral  was,  naturally,  our  first  quest. 
From  the  door  of  our  hotel  we  spied  it  beyond 
the  narrow  Mercery  Lane,  over  which  leaned 
an  old  white  house  whose  windows  gave  it  a 
grotesque  expression  as  of  a  mild  monster 
guarding  vast  treasure.  This  proved  to  be  the 
famous  Chequers  Inn. 

The  beautiful  west  front  was,  alas!  done  up 
in  splints  and  we  were  informed  by  a  guide 
who  wished  to  conduct  us  about  the  town  and 


360     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

cathedral  just  how  many  thousand  pounds 
"  westerling  "  the  scaffolding  had  cost. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Diana,  patiently  smil- 
ing, "  this  interests  us  less  than  the  cathedral's 
fa9ade.  Thank  you  very  much!  we  shall  not 
require  a  guide."  He  stood  open-mouthed  and 
silent  at  having  encountered  Americans  who 
were  not  interested  in  money. 

The  great  nave  was  vibrant  with  organ  tones 
as  we  entered;  and  a  service  was  beginning  in 
"  the  glorious  choir  of  Conrad."  The  rich  roll 
of  the  organ,  the  clear  boyish  voices,  and  a 
deeper  one  intoning  prayers,  served  to  put 
us  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  splendid 
vastness  of  the  edifice.  We  were  too  far 
from  the  worshippers  to  participate  in  the 
service;  so  we  allowed  our  thoughts  to  wander 
freely. 

Becket! 

This  is  the  dominant,  the  predominating 
stimulus  to  reverie  and  to  memory  in  Canter- 
bury Cathedral.  The  service  concluded,  on 
payment  of  the  sixpence  requisite  in  English 
cathedrals  for  seeing  the  choir  and  apse,  and 
on  signing  our  names  in  the  visitors'  book,  we 
were  admitted  beyond  the  gates  with  a  troop 
of  English  and  American  tourists  and  con- 
ducted by  a  verger  past  the  many  chapels  of 
wondrous  beauty  and  tombs  of  deepest  human 


Canterbury  361 

interest.     As  we  became  aware  of  the  great 
names  on  the  monuments  Sonia  said : 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  all  the  folk  who  were 

not  buried  in  Westminster  are  here.    Dunstan, 

Stephen  Langton,  Henry  IV,  the  Black  Prince 

—what  tremendous  epochs  of  history  we  are 

touching  simultaneously! " 

'  The  kings  are  in  the  Abbey,  their  prime 
ministers  here,"  whispered  Diana.  "  Lan- 
franc,  Anselm,  Simon  of  Sudbury;  and  this 
broken  effigy  of  Hubert  Walter  takes  us  to 
Acre  with  Richard  Plantagenet." 

Of  the  Black  Prince  we  mused  while  the  va- 
cant voice  of  the  verger  at  the  head  of  the 
"  party  "  droned  its  rote.  What  had  the  for- 
tunes of  Crecy  been  but  for  the  rain  that  sof- 
tened the  bowstrings  of  France's  Genoese  mer- 
cenaries? How  much  sooner  had  a  French 
king  ruled  o'er  Britain?  "  Let  him  win  his 
spurs!"  the  English  king  had  cried,  proudly 
watching  his  sixteen-year-old  son  until  the  lad's 
efforts  gave  England  the  day.  Then  before 
the  whole  army,  Edward,  for  the  moment  more 
father  than  king,  embraced  the  boy  and  said: 
"  Sweet  son,  God  give  you  good  perseverance; 
you  are  my  true  son — right  royally  you  have 
acquitted  yourself  this  day,  and  you  are  worthy 
of  a  crown."  Ten  years  later  came  Poitiers, 
another  decade  and  Najara,  the  zenith  of  the 


362     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

young  knight's  career ;  and  at  the  conclusion  of 
yet  another  the  flower  of  English  chivalry  died 
— ignominiously,  no  doubt  it  seemed  to  such  a 
warrior — in  his  bed. 

"  Now,  if  somebody  had  stabbed  him  in  the 
back,  I  suppose  there  would  have  been  another 
English  saint  in  the  calendar,"  murmured 
Diana. 

'  The  funeral  procession  that  bore  his  body 
from  Westminster  Abbey,  where  it  had  lain  in 
state  nearly  four  months,  proclaimed  the  grief 
of  the  whole  nation  for  the  loss  of  an  almost 
idolized  prince.  Twelve  black  horses  drew  the 
hearse,  and  behind  it  came  both  houses  of  Par- 
liament in  deep  mourning — a  fitting  finale  to 
the  career  of  le  Prince  Noir.  Why  has  none 
written  of  what  was  said  and  done  on  that  Can- 
terbury pilgrimage? 

John  of  Gaunt  and  William  of  Wykeham 
stood  among  the  mourners  in  the  flare  of  the 
mortuary  candles  before  the  high  altar  of  the 
cathedral,  as  did  also  Archbishop  Simon  of 
Sudbury,  little  knowing  that  he  was  destined 
to  be  beheaded  by  Wat  Tyler  on  Tower  Hill  in 
London  and  that  the  next  funeral  of  impor- 
tance to  be  celebrated  before  this  altar  would 
be  his  own ! 

They  had  respected  the  prince's  wish  that  he 
be  interred  in  Canterbury  Cathedral;  but  the 


Canterbury  363 

center  of  the  crypt  which  he  had  chosen  for  a 
resting  place  was  not  deemed  worthy  the  na- 
tion's hero,  and  therefore  this  splendid  tomb 
was  placed  near  the  shrine  of  St.  Thomas 
where  all  pilgrims  might  see  it.  The  gilding 
and  color  that  once  richly  adorned  it  can  now 
be  only  imagined;  and  the  gauntlets,  shield, 
scabbard,  and  coat  pendant  for  hundreds  of 
years  above  his  effigy  have  lost  all  character 
and  suggestiveness.  Where — oh,  where  are  the 
gold  spurs  so  splendidly  won  at  Crecy?  All 
the  evil  that  he  did  was  interred  with  the  bones 
of  gallant  Prince  Edward.  The  good  alone 
lives  after  him,  as  is  often  the  case;  though  a 
difference  of  opinion  with  the  author  of  the 
plays  Lord  Verulam  did  not  write  is  reluctant- 
ly and  apologetically  expressed.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  note  that  Welsh  antiquaries  consider  ich 
dien,  which  has  been  the  motto  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales  since  then,  to  be  a  Celtic  synonym  for 
ecce  homo;  for  when  his  infant  son  was  pre- 
sented to  the  people  of  his  patronymic  the 
Black  Prince  had  used  it  as  meaning:  "Be- 
hold the  man! " 

The  little  inclosure  known  as  the  "  Martyr- 
dom "  was  so  incarnate  to  Sonia  with  memories 
of  Irving's  acting  and  of  Tennyson's  drama, 
"  Becket,"  that  she  with  difficulty  restrained 
the  emotions  that  welled  up  in  this  very  theater 


364     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

of  that  bloody  deed.  Diana  knew  somewhat  of 
Becket's  chiaro'scuro  public  career,  with  its 
dazzling  brilliancy,  its  hyper-austerity  despite 
the  indomitable  pride  that  was  the  cause  of  his 
undoing;  and  therefore  we  stood  aside  while 
the  guide  babbled  and  the  trippers  gawped 
over  the  little  square  in  the  paving  left  by  the 
stone  of  marytrdom  which  was  sent  to  Rome. 
We  tried  not  to  think  hardly  of  the  four  "  gen- 
tlemen "  who  believed  they  were  serving  their 
king — because  he  had  querulously  cried,  "  Will 
no  one  rid  me  of  this  man?  " — by  hacking 
England's  primate  to  death  as  he  knelt  un- 
armed and  unresisting,  after  that  one  fiercely 
human  attack  on  his  murderers.  We  tried  to 
forget  the  torn  scalp,  the  brains  and  blood  scat- 
tered on  the  floor,  by  thinking  of  the  people 
who  thought  the  blood  precious.  Then  we  pic- 
tured that  awesome  scene  in  the  choir  when  the 
hair  shirt,  writhing  with  vermin,  and  the  great 
welts  across  the  back  from  the  daily  meed  of 
"  stripes,"  were  discovered — grimly  humorous 
evidences  of  eligibility  for  canonization.  The 
verger  then  conducted  us  down  to  the  crypt 
and  we  saw  in  fancy  Henry's  late  repentance 
for  that  Berserker-Plantagenet  rage  with  his 
once  dear  friend. 

The  Black  Prince  is  only  known  to  have 
been  once  in  Canterbury;  but  the  impression 


Canterbury  365 

it  made  was  deep  in  his  memory.  A  little  me- 
morial chapel  in  the  crypt  bears  his  name. 
This  was  a  tribute  to  his  marriage  with  his 
cousin  Joan,  the  Fair  Maid  of  Kent.  Two 
priests  were  appointed  to  pray  here  for  his  soul 
until  death  and  after. 

'  Why  did  they  not  pray  for  Joan,  too? " 
queried  Sonia. 

This  little  chapel  is  now  the  vestibule  to  the 
chapel  of  the  French  congregation,  the  na- 
tion so  closely  associated  with  his  life.  To 
the  Chapter  of  Canterbury  he  gave  in  ex- 
change for  permission  to  found  this  chapel 
the  manor  of  Fawke's  Hall.  Of  "  Fawke  " 
we  know  nothing;  but  his  name  shall  live 
as  long  as  London  endures,  in  Vaux- 
hall. 

Becket's  murder  "  made  "  Canterbury,  ca- 
thedral and  city,  and  dimmed  forever  the  glory 
of  the  Augustinian  monastery.  It  also  out- 
shone St.  Etheldreda's  at  Ely  and  other  popu- 
lar shrines,  as,  for  instance,  St.  Edmund's  and 
St.  Alban's.  The  shrine  of  St.  Thomas  of 
Canterbury  became  a  devotional  and  nomadic 
fashion ;  and  subshrines  bearing  his  name  were 
erected  at  Lyons,  Sens,  and  St.  Lo,  and  even 
in  Syria.  In  Great  Britain  were  innumerable 
"  branch  "  shrines  as  well  as  the  great  one  at 
Canterbury.  Each  displayed  a  treasured  boot, 


366     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

drinking  cup,  drop  of  blood,  girdle,  or  bit  of 
cloth  from  a  garment  that  had  been  his.  The 
shrine  at  Canterbury  was  in  the  form  of  a  chest, 
studded  with  iron  nails  and  secured  by  strong 
iron  locks.  This  was  inclosed  in  a  sort  of  casket 
made  of  wood  heavily  overlaid  with  gold, 
"  damasked  with  gold  wire  and  embossed  with 
innumerable  pearls,  jewels,  and  rings,  cramped 
together  on  this  gold  ground."  This  was  con- 
cealed in  turn  under  a  wooden  cover  whose  sides 
were  painted  with  suitable  subjects.  When 
the  pilgrims  had  made  their  slow  circuit  of  the 
cathedral  and  crypt,  pausing  times  without 
number  to  salute  with  their  lips  relics  inclosed 
in  coffers  of  gold,  silver,  or  ivory,  for  those 
who  were  sufficiently  privileged  the  outer  cover 
of  the  shrine  was  lifted  by  a  rope  from  above. 
The  knees  which  had  hitched  the  pilgrims  up 
many  steps  were  again  called  into  requisition 
as  silver  bells  proclaimed  throughout  the  build- 
ing the  fact  that  the  precious  shrine  was  un- 
covered. A  rare  few  were  permitted  to  mount 
a  ladder  and  peep  at  the  inner  iron  chest. 
While  the  votaries  remained  kneeling  and 
open-mouthed  at  such  glitter  as  their  simple 
lives  could  not  supply,  a  factotum  with  a  taper- 
ing white  wand  pointed  out  to  them  the  jewels, 
naming  the  givers  of  each  and  the  cost.  Diana 
says  she  knows  the  guide  whom  we  encoun- 


Canterbury  367 

tered  outside  the  cathedral  is  a  lineal  descendant 
of  one  of  these  "  demonstrators." 

The  holy  relics  each  man  with  his  mouth 

Kissed  as  a  goodly  monk  the  names  told  and  taught. 

"  Fancy  kissing  the  broken  sword  with  which 
Le  Bret  did  his  dreadful  deed! " 

"  I  am  glad  the  hair  shirt  was  hung  up  and 
not  proffered  to  the  lips  of  the  worshippers.  I 
wonder  if  it  had  been  fumigated?  " 

We  liked  the  story  of  the  white  carbuncle, 
as  large  as  a  hen's  egg,  which  had  been  unlaw- 
fully "  annexed  "  by  the  saint  from  a  French 
king,  Louis  VII,  as  he  knelt  before  the  shrine. 

'  The  king  had  come  thither  to  discharge 
a  vow  made  in  battle,  and  knelt  at  the  shrine 
with  the  stone  set  in  a  ring  on  his  finger." 

"  Fancy  wearing  a  hen's  egg  on  one  finger! 
He  must  have  had  a  Brobdignagian  hand." 

The  archbishop,  who  was  present,  coveted 
the  jewel — for  the  saint — and  entreated  Louis 
to  present  it  to  the  shrine.  So  costly  a  gift  was 
too  much  of  a  sacrifice  for  the  royal  pilgrim, 
"  especially  as  it  insured  him  good  luck  in  all 
his  enterprises.  Still,  as  a  compensation,  he  of- 
fered a  hundred  thousand  florins  for  the  better 
adornment  of  the  shrine.  The  primate  was 
fully  satisfied  ";  but  scarcely  had  the  pilgrim's 
refusal  been  uttered  "  when  the  stone  leapt  from 


368     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

the  ring,  and  fastened  itself  to  the  shrine,  as 
if  a  goldsmith  had  fixed  it  there."  The  unfor- 
tunate king  also  left  the  hundred  thousand 
florins ;  and  it  is  presumable  that,  like  Dr.  Fos- 
ter, "  he  never  went  there  again."  The  jewel 
was  the  bright  particular  star  of  the  whole  col- 
lection, and  was  said  to  have  been  dazzlingly 
brilliant  by  day — so  much  so  that  the  eye  could 
scarce  endure  its  rays — and  at  night  it  put  the 
altar  lamps,  as  it  were,  in  the  shade.  An  angel, 
— whether  real  or  artificial  deponent  sayeth 
not, — continually  pointed  to  this  wondrous 
jewel,  (called  the  "  Regale  of  France,")  which 
must  have  been  supererogative,  since  its  bright- 
ness compelled  one  to  look  and  yet  by  this  very 
brilliancy  forbade  compliance. 

There  was  a  royal  entertainment  of  great 
chromatic  splendor  in  Canterbury  when  the 
young  king  Henry  VIII  received  the  Em- 
peror Charles  V  at  Dover  on  a  Whitsunday 
morning,  and  escorted  him  upon  the  Watling 
Street  to  the  Gate  of  St.  George,  the  two  kings 
entering  the  city  under  the  same  baldacchino. 
Wolsey  preceded  them,  and  English  nobles  in 
full  regalia  pranced  beside  those  of  Spain. 
This  brilliant  procession  passed  through  lines  of 
clergy  in  ecclesiastical  robes,  and  at  the  cathe- 
dral, where  they  dismounted  with  a  great  clat- 
ter, Archbishop  Warham  met  the  distinguished 


Canterbury  369 

party,  which  was  not,  we  trust,  halted  at  the 
choir  gate  for  the  paying  of  sixpence  per  capita 
or  the  writing  of  names  in  a  visitors'  book. 

Just  eighteen  years  later  the  good  saint  was 
publicly  summoned  by  royal  command  to  ap- 
pear and  show  cause  whereby  he  should  not 
be  adjudged  guilty  of  "  treason,  contumacy, 
and  rebellion."  Beside  the  shrine  this  was  read 
and  thirty  days  were  accorded  to  St.  Thomas 
for  the  gathering  together  of  his  scattered 
bones,  blood  and  garments.  Evidently  he  was 
disinclined  to  leave  the  security  and  impor- 
tance of  his  present  position.  Did  he  not  know 
how  faithless  kings  could  be?  Rather  suffer 
unjust  accusation  in  silence,  though  it  be  inter- 
preted as  an  admission  of  guilt.  The  case  was 
actually  argued  with  due  formality  at  West- 
minster Palace,  and  with  proper  accompani- 
ment of  attorneys  for  prosecution  and  defense. 
Like  stage  duels  and  circus  races,  everybody 
knew  who  would  win ;  sentence  was  pronounced 
"  that  his  bones  should  be  publicly  burnt,  and 
that  offerings  made  at  the  shrine  should  be  for- 
feited to  the  crown."  Lucky  crown! 

The  royal  commissioners  came  with  nippers 
and  daintily  picked  out  the  jewels  that  were 
imbedded  in  the  covering  of  the  shrine.  It 
was  like  the  crow,  perching  "  upon  his  bare 
backbone  and  pluck  (ing)  his  eyes  out  one  by 


370     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

one."  On  Henry's  fat  breast  the  Regale  of 
France  gleamed  thereafter  until  he  gave  it  to 
his  daughter  Mary,  who  had  it  set  in  a  golden 
necklace. 

'  Why  is  it  not  now  in  existence?  How  I 
should  love  to  see  it !  "  thus  Sonia. 

"  Perhaps  when  the  carbuncle  came  to  Eliza- 
beth her  jeweler  squinted  at  it  through  his 
little  glass  and  announced  that  it  was  '  re- 
constructed.' That  is  apt  to  be  the  fate  of 
heirlooms." 

Whether  the  comet-like  visit  of  Erasmus  and 
Dean  Colet  to  Canterbury  directly  influenced 
the  Reformation  or  not,  they  were  the  first 
who  openly  scorned  the  notion  that  curative 
powers  exist  in  old  clothes  or  dead  men's  shoes. 
And  doubt  has  destroyed  the  sanctity  of  many 
a  shrine,  the  value  of  many  an  Old  Master. 
So  sweeping  was  the  housecleaning  at  Canter- 
bury that  even  the  arms  of  the  city  and  cathe- 
dral were  altered ;  and  not  only  was  the  shrine 
of  St.  Thomas  utterly  demolished,  but  an  order 
went  forth  through  the  land  that  everything 
relating  to  the  saint  should  be  destroyed. 
From  historical  and  legal  documents  his  name 
was  erased,  from  illuminated  missals  and  church 
prayer  books ;  statues  and  pictures  vanished  to 
limbo,  but  this  is  all  significant  of  royal  and 
religious  ignorance  of  man's  inability  to  oblit- 


A  swift  intake  of  breath;  and  then  we  both  said  "Oh!" 


Canterbury  371 

erate  from  the  book  of  life  the  name  of  a  per- 
sonality so  powerful  as  that  of  Thomas  a 
Becket. 

We  walked  about  the  beautiful  cloisters 
and  thence  emerged  into  the  spacious  grounds 
that  constitute  the  cathedral  inclosure.  So 
many  and  so  great  are  the  beauties  of  this 
Queen  of  England's  ministers  that  we  were 
suddenly  bereft  of  adjectives,  and  in  silence 
strolled  about,  allowing  our  senses  to  steep  in 
the  atmosphere  that  varied  from  moment  to 
moment  as  widely  as  do  the  lines  of  Bell  Harry 
Tower,  the  Baptistry,  "  St.  Thomas's  Crown," 
St.  Anselm's  Tower,  and  the  disabled  West 
Front.  Our  first  glance  at  the  Baptistry  pro- 
duced a  swift  intake  of  breath,  and  a  subse- 
quent "Oh!"  The  Prior's  Gateway  beyond 
the  famous  Dark  Entry  was  a  pleasantly  sur- 
prising bit  of  ruin.  We  were  astonished  to 
find  after  a  long  hunt  that  the  Norman  Stair- 
case is  not  a  part  of  the  cathedral,  but  leads  to 
the  upper  part  of  the  King's  School,  founded 
during  the  seventh  century,  which  although  in 
the  cathedral  precincts  is  some  distance  from 
where  we  had  expected  to  find  it. 

Of  the  priory  St.  Augustine  founded  very 
little  remains  but  records  and  tradition.  The 
modern  and  not  very  beautiful  gateway  se- 
cludes the  Missionary  College,  which  was  built 


on  a  part  of  the  Augustinian  site,  and  was 
erected — of  ugly  round  Kentish  flints — about 
sixty  years  ago,  a  brewery  having  preempted 
the  position  ever  since  the  Reformation.  Vis- 
itors being  required  to  follow  a  guide,  we  lost 
much  valuable  time  in  seeing  what  we  did  not 
wish  to  see.  Somehow  the  old  Guest  Hall  of 
Tudor  or  earlier  day  escaped  destruction  by 
both  reformers  and  brewers,  and  although  mod- 
ernized to  meet  the  gustatory  requirements  of 
incipient  missionaries  to  other  lands,  the  fine 
oaken  roof  remains  unchanged. 

A  part  of  St.  Ethelbert's  Tower  is  about  all 
of  the  ancient  abbey  that  is  standing.  The  cit- 
izens of  Canterbury  have  not  displayed  much 
conservatism  or  reverence  for  the  skill  of  their 
architectural  predecessors.  When  building 
materials  were  needed  as  the  city  grew  larger, 
the  simple  and  labor-saving  method  of  em- 
ploying pickaxe  and  crowbar  on  the  city  walls 
and  the  remaining  portions  of  St.  Augustine's 
Abbey  or  the  castle — any  of  the  "  good-for- 
nothing  "  old  ramshackle  remains  that  were 
so  plentiful — was  much  more  economical  and 
praktisch  than  buying  new  stuff.  Besides,  the 
town  ought  to  be  cleared  up,  anyhow ! 

Recent  excavations  of  an  extensive  nature 
have  revealed  vast  foundations  of  the  ancient 
Abbey  church,  of  which  much  more  is  likely  to 


Canterbury  373 

be  discovered  ere  the  work  is  completed.  Diana 
delighted  in  a  few  mason  marks  she  found  on 
some  of  the  oldest  stones.  We  stood  aside 
again  from  the  group  of  trippers,  who  repre- 
sent the  large  class  of  persons  who  like  to  swal- 
low ready-made  information  and  ideas  rather 
than  to  do  any  individual  thinking.  The  foun- 
dations disclosed  near  by  are  of  St.  Pancras's 
church,  which  had  originally  been  a  British 
place  of  worship,  and  subsequently  the  abode 
of  Saxon  deities.  It  was  given  to  Augustine 
by  Ethelbert  and  converted  to  Christian  uses. 

While  Gregory  was  a  monk  in  the  monastery 
of  St.  Andrew  on  one  of  Rome's  seven  hills, 
and  had  not  yet  been  called  the  Great,  but  had 
newly  uttered  the  famous  words,  "  Non  Angli 
sed  angeli "  of  the  little  English  boy  slaves,  a 
great  desire  came  to  him  to  go  to  the  mysterious 
and  magnetic  northern  land  whose  people  had 
golden  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  convert  it  to  his 
form  of  religious  belief.  He  set  forth  without 
papal  permission;  but  after  three  days'  jour- 
neying he  accepted  the  lighting  of  a  locust  on 
his  book  during  a  roadside  rest  as  a  sign.  Loco 
sta,  he  interpreted  as  a  heavenly  indication  that 
he  must  go  no  farther ;  and  at  the  same  moment 
breathless  messengers  from  the  pope  overtook 
him,  requiring  his  return  to  Rome. 

"  I  wonder  what  would  have  happened  to 


374     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

the  history  of  England  if  a  bee  or  a  mosquito 
had  lighted  on  his  book? "  said  Diana,  the 
irreverent. 

Gregory,  however,  never  forgot  his  interest 
in  Albion;  and  soon  after  becoming  pope  he 
chose  from  the  Convent  of  St.  Andrew  the 
monk  Augustine,  whom  he  sent  with  forty 
other  of  the  brothers  on  the  mission  he  had 
been  compelled  to  relinquish.  Where  Hengist 
and  Horsa  had  descended  on  the  Isle  of 
Thanet  from  their  ships  the  Roman  mission- 
aries stepped  for  the  first  time  on  the  shore 
of  the  coveted  land.  A  messenger  was  sent 
to  Ethelbert,  King  of  Kent,  whose  court  was 
at  Canterbury.  The  king — although  Bertha 
his  French  wife  was  a  Christian — was  a  little 
fearful  of  these  new  arrivals  and  bade  them  re- 
main on  the  island,  with  the  Stour  flowing 
between  it  and  the  mainland,  so  that  if  their 
methods  of  conversion  were  of  a  magical  nature 
the  water  would  serve  as  a  non-conductor  and 
protect  the  people  of  Britain.  Finally,  a  meet- 
ing was  arranged,  and  the  king  stipulating  that 
it  must  not  be  'neath  a  roof,  the  "  Son  of  the 
Ash-tree  "  with  his  flaxen-haired  Saxon  giants 
about  him  bravely  faced,  at  Ebbes  Fleet,  the 
brown-garbed  band  of  brothers  who  had  no 
swords  but  came  up  the  hill  bearing  a  huge 
silver  cross  and  a  big  colored  and  gilded  picture 


Canterbury  375 

of  the  Savior,  the  while  they  chanted  a  Grego- 
rian litany.  The  missionaries  were  thereafter 
permitted  to  proceed  to  Canterbury  and  ere 
long  the  king  allowed  them  to  worship  in  St. 
Martin's  church  which  had  been  erected  for  the 
queen.  Ethelbert's  baptism  was  celebrated  on 
Whitsunday  597;  and  that  day  the  Church  of 
England  was  born.  Probably  this  is  why 
Whit-Monday  has  always  been  a  national 
holiday. 

We  came  later  in  the  day  to  St.  Martin's, 
which  is  claimed  to  be  the  oldest  church  in  Eng- 
land ;  but  its  boast  is  shared  by  several  others. 
This  little  church  is  set  on  a  low  hill  from  which 
a  fair  view  extends  over  the  nether  wealds  of 
Kent.  The  heavy  twisted  stems  of  the  ivy  in 
which  St.  Martin's  is  wrapt  look  as  old  as  the 
Roman  bricks  incorporated  in  the  walls.  A 
little  pointed  Saxon  door  is  called  St.  Au- 
gustine's; and  perhaps  the  great  preacher  did 
pass  in  and  out  thereby. 

'  Let  us  believe  so,"  Sonia  said,  "  it  is  pleas- 
anter  to  believe  than  to  doubt." 

An  old  font  is  shown  which,  if  not  that  in 
which  Ethelbert  was  baptized,  is  probably  a 
faithful  replica.  The  ancient  tomb  said  to  be 
Queen  Bertha's  has  caused  some  dispute 
among  fussy  antiquarians;  but  this  was  her 
church,  dedicate  to  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  and  if 


376    Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

she  lies  beside  her  lord  under  St.  Augustine's 
Abbey,  this  may,  nevertheless,  be  a  monument 
to  her  erected  at  the  time  of  her  death. 

Soon  after  the  consecration  of  St.  Augustine 
as  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  the  first  English 
cathedral  was  erected;  but  almost  no  trace  re- 
mains of  its  original  form,  that  of  St.  Peter's 
at  Rome.  The  generous  Ethelbert  was  ob- 
sessed with  a  desire  for  yet  more  churches  in 
the  Kentish  capital.  He  gave  Augustine  land 
for  a  monastery  which  should  accommodate  a 
vast  number  of  clergy  imported  from  Rome  to 
instruct  the  people  of  this  island,  who  must  be 
taught  in  their  own  language.  While  the  new 
abbey  and  church  were  being  erected  the  monks 
worshipped  in  the  old  heathen  temple  they 
dedicated  to  St.  Pancras.  At  last  the  great 
Roman  missionary  was  buried  beside  the  Wat- 
ling  Street,  which  had  been  made  by  his  pagan 
ancestors  five  hundred  years  before  his  coming. 

Canterbury  contains  several  interesting  old 
churches  in  addition  to  St.  Pancras's  and  St. 
Martin's.  St.  Alphege's  we  sought  out  be- 
cause of  the  story  of  him  in  whose  memory  it 
was  erected.  Alphege,  who  was  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  when  it  was  sacked  by  the  Danes 
in  1011,  was  taken  prisoner  by  them  and  con- 
ducted to  their  camp  at  Greenwich,  where  after 
seven  months'  captivity  he  was  put  to  death. 


Canterbury  377 

St.  Mildred's  has  large  blocks  of  oolite  from 
some  Roman  building  incorporated  into  the 
quoins  of  the  south  wall  of  the  nave.  Izaac 
Walton  was  married  in  St.  Mildred's.  An 
ancient  archway  and  tower  on  which  we  hap- 
pened about  midway  between  the  cathedral 
and  St.  Martin's  we  presumed  to  be  all  that 
remains  of  the  church  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen. 
There  were  friars  of  orders  gray,  black,  and 
white  established  in  Canterbury.  Of  the  Gray 
Friars'  abode  a  picturesque  bit  exists,  span- 
ning with  double  arch  a  small  stream.  As 
early  as  1100  Bishop  Anselm  founded  a  nun- 
nery for  a  prioress  and  five  nuns,  which  he  dedi- 
cated to  St.  Sepulchre.  This  nunnery's  name 
is  chiefly  remembered  because  of  a  certain 
epileptic,  nervous,  religious  fanatic  who  was 
for  a  few  years  a  member  of  the  household. 
Elizabeth  Barton  was  a  tavern  servant  in  Al- 
dington, a  Kentish  village.  Suddenly  she  de- 
veloped a  propensity  for  seeing  visions,  and 
dreaming  dreams  which  were  extraordinary. 
Her  hallucinations  she  confessed  to  her  priest, 
Richard  Masters,  who  violated  his  office  and 
told  of  her  confession,  his  confidant  being 
Canon  Bockling  of  Canterbury.  Bockling 
passed  the  good  word  along  to  Archbishop 
Warham,  who  sent  the  canon  to  Aldington  to 
"  investigate."  Elizabeth's  dreams  were  ad- 


378     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

vertised  by  the  clergy  as  divine  revelations,  and 
people  flocked  in  hundreds  to  see  the  "  Holy 
Maid  of  Kent."  Many  a  hectic  scene  was 
enacted  by  her  for  the  public  delectation.  She 
became  so  accomplished  that  she  could  summon 
visions  "  to  order,"  and  could  see  and  hear  just 
what  the  reverend  fathers  desired  she  should. 
At  this  time  England  was  convulsed  with  ex- 
citement over  Henry's  divorce  from  Catherine, 
and  the  prophetess  had  something  direct  from 
headquarters  to  predict  concerning  the  pro- 
jected marriage  with  Anne.  She  declared  that 
she  had  received  a  letter  from  Mary  Magdalen 
written  in  gold  ink  which  informed  her  that  if 
the  king  married  Mistress  Bullen  he  would  die 
within  seven  months.  She  was  especially  en- 
couraged and  stimulated,  perhaps  remuner- 
ated, by  the  Observants,  who  were  zealous  op- 
ponents of  the  marriage.  Even  Sir  Thomas 
More  took  her  seriously  and  corresponded  with 
her — in  gold  ink  also?  At  length  the  king 
awoke  to  the  situation,  and  summoned  her  with 
Masters  and  Bockling  before  Parliament, 
which  promptly  sentenced  them  all  to  be  exe- 
cuted. She  was  beheaded  at  Tyburn  in  1534. 
Among  the  fine  Tudor  buildings  in  Canter- 
bury is  St.  John's  Hospital,  which  is  best  seen 
from  the  garden  side.  The  Canterbury 
"  Weavers  "  everybody  sees,  for  it  is  the  most 


s 

<u 
•o 


Canterbury  379 

picturesque  bit  of  architecture  along  the  High 
Street.  One  side  of  it  overhangs  the  River 
Stour.  The  art  of  weaving  was  for  three  cen- 
turies one  of  Canterbury's  chief  sources  of  in- 
come. The  Huguenot  and  Walloon  refugees 
brought  their  craft  with  them  and  this  little 
city  profited  thereby,  just  as  Colchester  was 
the  richer  for  the  bays  and  says  manufacture. 
Then,  during  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century  the  industry  almost  died;  but  now  an 
effort  has  been  made  to  revive  it,  and  this 
beautiful  old  building  has  been  successfully 
restored  to  meet  the  weavers'  requirements 
and  to  delight  the  eye  of  every  visitor  to  Can- 
terbury. 

The  city  wall  with  twenty-one  watch  towers 
and  six  gates  that  had  been  given  to  the  city  of 
Canterbury  by  Archbishop  Simon  of  Sudbury, 
whom  Wat  Tyler  murdered,  now  hides  many 
of  its  fragmentary  remnants  behind  houses, 
stables  and  fences.  The  only  considerable  por- 
tion that  we  could  find  is  that  which  curves 
outward  to  avoid  the  green  mound  called  Dane 
John,  not  far  from  the  cattle  market  which  we 
beheld  full  of  sturdy  Kentish  wethers.  The 
wall,  it  seems,  has  been  gradually  removed  by 
those  same  citizens  of  Canterbury  who  stood  in 
need  of  building  material.  The  brewery  hap- 
pily was  redeemed ;  but  who  shall  save  Canter- 


380     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

bury  Castle  from  the  local  gas  company  by 
which  it  is  used  as  a  "  coal  bunk  "?  This  was 
for  centuries  a  stronghold  for  the  city's  pro- 
tection and  was  to  Canterbury  what  Dover's 
castle  was  to  the  channel  port.  Its  keep  was 
the  third  largest  in  England;  and  now — it  is 
like  Mary's  lamb  after  a  visit  to  Pittsburg. 

"  What  is  Dane  John?  "  asked  Sonia.  "  It 
looks  like  a  large-size  British  barrow.  I  won- 
der if  they  have  ever  had  gumption  enough  to 
open  it  and  see  if  it  contained  anything  interest- 
ing? "  We  searched  through  our  guidebooks 
and  found  that  the  origin  of  the  name  is  not 
known,  though  its  form  has  often  varied,  Dan- 
zil,  Dauzon,  Daungron,  Dungeon,  being  a  few 
of  its  variations.  Dane  John  may  have  been 
used  for  defense  of  the  city. 

"  Why  not  a  beacon? "  Diana  hazarded. 
'  There  are  no  natural  hills  near  by."  The 
hideous  shaft  is  a  recent  addition;  but  since 
time  immemorial  the  mound  has  been  sur- 
rounded by  a  park.  During  repairs  made  to 
the  wall  a  few  years  ago  some  bones,  flint 
arrowheads,  Roman  ornaments  and  bits  of 
mosaic  were  found  near  the  base. 

A  stone  dwelling  on  a  corner  not  very  far 
from  the  cathedral  bears  a  sign,  "  Lady  Woot- 
on's  Green-House,"  whatever  that  may  be. 
The  side  wall  of  the  house — which  is  not  green 


Canterbury  381 

— is  a  most  interesting  admixture  of  archi- 
tectural periods,  in  the  form  of  doors  and 
windows. 

The  Stour,  which  gave  to  Canterbury  its 
Celtic  name,  meaning  "  Stronghold  in  the 
marsh,"  is  constantly  appearing  in  unexpected 
places.  We  had  found  St.  Mildred's  Church, 
again  the  Gray  Friars',  and  yet  again  the 
A Ve  avers  beside  or  over  it. 

Mercery  Lane  is  still  the  chief  place  in  which 
to  purchase  souvenirs  of  Canterbury,  although 
these  now  bear  no  resemblance  to  those  which 
were  sold  in  vast  numbers  to  pilgrims  to  the 
shrine  of  St.  Thomas.  The  lane  then  was  a 
double  line  of  arcades  like  those  now  in  Bern 
and  the  Rows  in  Chester.  The  present  de- 
lightful top-heavy  houses  are  of  Tudor  times. 
Under  these  arcades  the  vendors  displayed 
their  wares.  This  was  a  custom  which  had  de- 
veloped from  older  shrines,  St.  Etheldreda's — 
commonly  called  St.  Awdrey's — at  Ely,  espe- 
cially. At  length  cheap  lace,  tinsel  ornaments, 
and  other  claptrap,  much  of  which  is  still  sold 
at  expositions  and  county  fairs,  was  denomi- 
nated "  tawdry  "  by  the  people  of  good  taste 
because  at  the  shrine  of  St.  Awdrey  such  sales 
had  their  beginning  in  England.  The  chief 
stock  in  trade  at  Canterbury  were  "  signs  "  to 
be  fastened  on  the  hat  as  indicative  of  having 


382     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

made  the  pilgrimage,  just  as  returning  cru- 
saders had  a  bit  of  palm  leaf  in  their  caps.  The 
signs  sold  at  Canterbury  were  usually  "  leaden 
brooches  representing  the  mitred  head  of  the 
saint,  with  the  inscription,  '  Caput  Thomae.' ' 

As  manner  and  custom  is,  signs  there  they  bought, 
For  men  of  centre  to  know  whom  they  had  sought, 
Each  man  set  his  silver  in  such  thing  as  they  liked. 

Once  the  sacred  relics  had  been  duly  saluted 
the  pilgrim  was  free  to  make  merry;  and  the 
vast  cellars  under  the  "  Chekers  of  the  Hope 
that  every  man  doth  know  "  amply  aided  in 
supplying  good  cheer.  Several  other  inns  en- 
dure, in  name  if  not  in  actual  construction.  The 
Falstaff,  whose  flamboyant  sign  we  had  seen 
as  we  came  from  the  railway  station,  cannot 
legitimately  claim  so  great  an  age  as  the  Royal 
Fountain  which  was  mentioned  in  1299  as  the 
best  in  Canterbury,  and  which  claims  to  have 
housed  the  mother  of  King  Harold  in  1029,  to 
have  been  the  residence  of  Lanfranc  while  his 
palace  was  being  rebuilt  in  1070,  and  even  to 
have  been  the  rendezvous  of  the  four  "  gentle- 
men "  who  murdered  Becket. 

One  of  Becket's  shoes  was  preserved  at 
Harbledown,  a  little  village  about  two  miles 
from  Canterbury,  which  afforded  pilgrims  op- 
portunity for  resting  under  the  trees,  drinking 


Canterbury  383 

from  the  well,  and  kissing  the  sacred  shoe. 
This  is  the  story,  but  as  Lan franc  was  the 
founder  of  the  church  and  "  hospital  "  at  Har- 
bledown,  the  shoe  may  not  have  been  one  of 
Becket's,  although  it  served  as  good  a  purpose 
to  the  faithful  pilgrims.  We  drove  out  to 
Harbledown,  where  at  the  door  of  the  little 
church  that  is  o'ertopped  by  an  ancient  yew, 
we  were  met  by  a  benevolent  old  man  whose 
personality  was  even  more  interesting  than  the 
information  he  gave  us  anent  his  church  and 
the  St.  Nicholas  almshouses  which  are  snugly 
settled  below  it,  among  bright  flower  borders, 
the  gray  walls  showing  between  ragged  out- 
lines of  clambering  roses  and  ivy.  Behind  the 
almshouses  is  the  famous  old  well  which  is 
called  the  "  Black  Prince's  Well,"  wherefrom 
the  young  man  had  slaked  his  thirst,  and  to 
which  he  sent  messengers  for  water  as  he  lay 
dying  many  years  afterward.  Over  the  well, 
which  nestles  among  tall  ferns  and  overhang- 
ing branches,  has  been  carved  the  prince's  em- 
blem which  he  chose  for  his  royal  standard 
when  he  selected  "  ich  dien  "  for  his  motto. 
The  well  had  doubtless  been  one  of  Lanfranc's 
reasons  for  selecting  this  site  for  the  leper  hos- 
pital which  he  founded  for  returned  crusaders 
who  came  back  covered  with  leprosy  rather 
than  the  glory  they  had  anticipated.  The 


384     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

church  was  also  for  their  use ;  and  its  floor  made 
to  slope  away  from  the  chancel  so  it  could  be 
easily  flushed  after  service,  the  priests  having 
separate  entrance  to  the  altar. 

'  You  are  Americans? "  our  cicerone  in- 
quired. "  I  like  to  show  the  church  to  Ameri- 
can ladies.  They  always  say  something  to 
make  you  laugh;  and  we  might  as  well  laugh 
whenever  we  can,  you  know.  I  ?  Well,  I  am 
almost  ripe  for  the  churchyard.  The  shot  in 
my  leg  at  the  Crimea  nearly  sent  me;  but  I 
lived  to  celebrate  my  golden  wedding  last 
January  the  seventeenth." 

He  showed  us  some  of  the  old  miserere  seats, 
and  explained  that  they  had  been  so  named 
and  constructed  that  when  the  service  was  long 
and  the  occupant  of  the  seat  fell  asleep  it  would 
straightway  close  up  and  waken  him.  On  the 
old  glass  of  one  of  the  chancel  windows  was 
painted  a  blue  campanula,  the  flower  of  Can- 
terbury; and  from  his  garden  he  gave  us  each 
a  living  one.  We  shook  his  dear  old  hand  and 
reluctantly  bade  him  "  good  day,"  a  mist  in  our 
eyes.  Chaucer's  Pilgrims  entered  Canterbury 
by  way  of  Harbledown,  near  which  was  the 
Forest  of  Blee: 

Wist  ye  not  where  standeth  a  little  town, 
Which  that  yclept  is  Bob  up  and  down, 
Under  the  Blee  in  Canterbury  way. 


Canterbury  385 

Colet  and  Erasmus,  too,  when  returning 
from  Canterbury  to  London,  "  found  them- 
selves in  a  descent  through  a  steep  and  narrow 
lane,  with  high  banks  on  either  side ;  on  the  left 
rose  an  ancient  almshouse.  We  recognize  at 
once  the  old  familiar  lazar-house  of  Harble- 
down  ...  so  picturesque  even  now  in  its  de- 
cay .  .  .  Down  those  steps  came,  according  to 
his  wont,  an  aged  almsman;  and  as  the  two 
horsemen  approached,  he  threw  his  accustomed 
shower  of  holy  water,  and  then  pressed  for- 
ward, holding  the  upper  leather  of  a  shoe, 
bound  in  a  brass  rim  with  a  crystal  set  in  the 
center."  This  was  the  last  straw.  They  were 
expected  to  kiss  the  unpleasant  bit  of  shoe 
leather.  Colet  spluttered  wrathfully;  but  the 
gentle  Erasmus  gave  the  old  man  some  money 
and  they  proceeded  on  their  road,  sadder  and 
wiser  than  when  they  came  the  other  way. 
From  Dean  Stanley  again :  "  In  the  old  chest 
of  the  almshouse  still  remain  two  relics.  .  .  . 
The  one  is  an  ancient  maple  bowl,  bound  with 
a  brazen  rim,  which  contains  a  piece  of  rock 
crystal,  so  exactly  reminding  us  of  that  which 
Erasmus  describes  in  the  leather  of  St. 
Thomas's  shoe,  as  to  suggest  the  conjecture 
that  when  the  shoe  was  lost  the  crystal  was 
thus  preserved.  The  other  is  a  rude  box,  with 
a  chain  to  be  held  by  the  hand,  and  a  slit  for 


386     Ways  and  Days  Out  of  London 

money  in  the  lid,  at  least  as  old  as  the  sixteenth 
century.  In  that  box,  we  can  hardly  doubt, 
the  coin  of  Erasmus  was  deposited." 

Another  saunter  through  and  around  the 
cathedral  to  cement  the  morning's  impressions 
and  the  end  had  come  of  this  our  last  day  on  a 
"  spoke  "  from  London. 

On  the  train  Diana  loosened  the  string  on  a 
little  packet  of  purchases. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can  give  away  any  of 
these  things.  They  mean  so  much  to  me ;  and 
who  else  could  rightly  value  them  unless  they 
had  seen  Canterbury?  I  really  think  our 
friend  Gregory  the  Great  was  mistaken  when 
he  said :  '  Things  are  not  to  be  loved  for  the 
sake  of  places,  but  places  for  the  sake  of 
things/  " 

"  No,  he  is  right.  If  you  did  not  love  the 
things  that  are  in  the  places  you  would  not  love 
the  places  themselves;  and  consequently  the 
things  you  bring  from  the  places — Oh,  dear! 
how  sorry  I  am  that  we  have  not  time  for  more 
days  out  of  London !  " 

Somewhat  pensively  we  looked  out  from  the 
windows  of  our  compartment  for  fleeting 
glimpses  of  hop  farms,  their  crops  almost  ready 
for  the  picking;  meadow  brooks  aimlessly 
meandering  through  sinuous  lines  of  bushy 
pollard  willows;  farms  whose  red-tiled  roofs 


Canterbury  387 

made  the  thatched  ones  of  Bedfordshire  seem 
in  some  other  land.  Cloud  shadows  raced 
northward  as  fast  as  we.  Were  those  great 
white  cumuli  that  floated  so  lightly  against  the 
blue  also  feeling  the  steady  magnetism  that 
had  brought  us  back  so  many  times  from  places 
where  we  should  have  liked  to  remain?  Would 
they  leave  London  at  last  as  relunctantly  as 
we;  or  would  they  gently  descend  among  her 
towers,  mingle  with  her  atmosphere  and  lose 
their  identity  in  the  embrace  of  the  city  that 
loves  no  man,  but  is  beloved  by  all  who  know 
her? 


INDEX 


A  Alleyn,  James,  230,  231 

Abbey  Hotel,  197  Alleyn,  Joan  Woodward,  227, 233, 

Abbey,  St.  Albans,  160,  163,  164,  236 

169-171,  263,  304,  306,  307,  Alleyn.  Simon, Vicar  of  Bray.  237 


347,  348,  349 

Abbey,  St.  Augustine's,  372,  376 
Abbey  of  St.  John,  263,  264 
Abbey  of  St.  Peter,  145 
Abbey,  Sion,  272 
Abbey,  Woburn,  350 
Abbots'  Langley.  349 
Adelais  of  Lorraine,  145 
Adelard,  216 
.<Esope,  226 

Agincourt,  74,  156,  313,  325 
Ainsworth,  Harrison,  212 
Alban,  St.,  161,  162,  163,  174 
Albany,  Duke  of,  153 
Albert  Chapel,  148 
Albert  Embankment,  268 
Albert,  Prince,  350 
Albini,  William  de,  53 
Alcock,  Bishop,  112,  132 
Aldington,  377 
Alfred  the  Atheling,  80 
Alfred  the  Great,  79,  109 
Alkmund,  284,  285 
Allen,  Joseph,  231 
Alleyn,  Edward,  223,  225,  226, 

227,  228,  236,  237,  238,  242, 

299,  302 
Alleyn,  Edward,  list  of  costumes 

of,  233,  234 


Allin,  (see  Alleyn) 
Alphege,  Archbishop,  376 
Amadis  of  Gaul,  303 
Ambresbury  Banks,  210,  211 
Amelia,  Princess,  77 
American  Velvet  Plant,  86 
Amphibalus,  160,  161,  168,  275 
Ampthill,  349 
Angel  Hotel,  81 
Anglo-Saxon  (see  Saxon) 
Anjou,  Margaret  of,  177 
Anna,  King,  108 
Anne  of  Bohemia,  71 
Anne  Boleyn,  (Bullen).  11,  212, 

321,  378 

Anne  of  Cleves,  53,  73,  332 
Anne  of  Denmark.  280,  322 
Anne,  Queen,  75,  316 
Anselm,  Bishop,  377 
Aragonnaise,  (see   Catherine    of 

Aragon) 
Aragon,  Catherine  of,  310,  314. 

319,  320,  378 
Armada,  the,  37 
Arthur  King,  250 
Arundell,  Lord,  229 
Asclepiodotus,  250 
Ascot,  Royal,  57-66,  157,  158 
Athelbrough,  285 


389 


390 


Index 


Atkinson,  235 

Attaboni,  Cardinal,  348 

Audley,  Lord,  312 

Augustine,  St.,  45,  108,  371-376 

Augustinian  friars,  198,  261 

Aungre,    (see  Chipping    Ongar) 

Austerlitz,  86 

Avershawe,  Jerry,  87,  212,  299 

B 

Babiola,  (see  Brunswick  House) 

Backs,  the,  123,  124 

Bacon,   Francis,    (Baron    Veru- 

lam),  128,  175.  195,  228,  229, 

241,  363 

Bajazet,  Sultan,  313 
Baldwin,  Job,  42 
Balkerne  Lane,  256 
Balkon  Gate,  254 
Ball,  John,  172 
Balsham,  Hugh  de,  119 
Bankside,  223,  224 
"Barks,"  26 
Barnes,  270 
Barnes  Common,  84 
Bartolozzi,  275 
Barton,  Elizabeth,  377,  378 
Bath,  Bishop  of,  319 
Battersea  Park,  269 
Bayeux,  Odo  Bishop  of,  52 
Bays  and  Says,  259,  379 
Bear  Inn,  89,  91 
Beaufort,  Cardinal,  306,  307 
Becket,  267,  279,  365,  382 
Becket,  St.  Thomas  a,  360-369 
Bede,  122 

Bedford,  340,  342,  347 
Bedford,  Duke  of,  350 
Bedfordshire,  339 
"Beds,"  334 
Beechey,  241 


Beethoven,  87 

Belle  Weir  Lock,  31 

Bell  Harry  Tower,  371 

Bell  Inn,  105 

Bells  of  Ouseley  Inn,  30 

Benedictine  Monastery,  109 

Benedictine     Nunnery     of     St. 

Rhadegund,  132 
Benham,  Canon,  46 
Bentley,  Richard,  314 
Beodricksworth,    (see    St.    Ed- 

mundsbury) 
Berkhampstead,  169 
Berks,  26 
Berkshire,  26 

Bermondsey,  Priory  of  222,  223 
Bertha,  Queen,  374,  375,  376 
Big  Ben,  268,  298 
Billingsgate,  267 
Bisham  Abbey,  198 
Blackfriars,  268 
Blackheath,  310-314 
Black  Prince,  361,  362,  368,  364. 

365 

Black  Prince's  Well,  383 
Blee,  Forest  of,  384 
Blue  Book,  80,  178 
Boadicea,  173,  210,  253 
Bockling,  Canon,  377,378 
Bohemia,  Anne  of,  72 
Bohun,  32 

Boleyn,  Anne,  11,  212,  321,  378 
Bond,  232,  240 

Boulter's  Lock,  19,  20,  182,  202 
Bourgeois,  SirPeter  Francis,  238, 

241 

Bourne  End,  200 
Bourne  Ponds,  264 
Boveny,  26 
Boveny  Lock,  26 
Bowling  Green,  86 


Index 


391 


Brabant,  Duke  of,  SOS,  305 

Brahe,  Tycho,  324 

Brandon,  Charles,  147 

Bray,  22 

Bray  Lock,  22 

Bray  Manor,  22 

Bray,  Vicar  of,  22,  237 

Braybroke,  Henry  de,  847 

Breakspeare,  Nicholas,  170 

Brentford,  272 

Brentford  Ferry,  70 

Bret,  le.  367 

Bridge,  Kingston,  277 

Bridge,  London,  266,  267 

Bridge,  Maidenhead,  21,  29 

Bridge,  Mathematical,  124 

Bridge,  Putney,  269 

Bridge,  Richmond,  76 

Bridge,  Rochester,  50,  56 

Bridge  of  Sighs,  128 

Bridge,  Westminster,  268 

Bridget,  Queen  of  Gypsies,  237 

British   (Britons),    16,   52,    173, 

250,  252,  264,  294,  311,  334, 

353,  373,  380 
Broad  Walk,  11,  277 
Brompton  Cemetery,  159,  244 
Brompton  Road,  4 
Browning,  Robert,  299 
Bruce,  Robert,  50 
Brunswick  House,  311 
Buccleuch,  Duke  of,  78 
Buccleuch  House,  78 
Buckingham,  Duke  of,  264,  278 
Buckinghamshire,  26 
"Bucks,  "26 
Bull  Inn,  54 
Bullen,  (see  Boleyn) 
Burbage,  232,  240,  280 
Burgundy,  Duke  of,  304,  305 
Burlington,  Earl  of,  271 


Burne-Jones,  120,  144 
Burnham  Abbey,  147 
Burnham  Beeches,  142,  143 
Bury  (see  St.  Edmundsbury) 
Bushey  Park,  277,  282 
Butler,  3S6 
Byron,  128 


Cabal,  275 

Cade,  Jack,  312 

Caesar,  Julius,  43,  44,  114,  147. 

165,  173,  251,  252,  354 
Caesar's  Tower.  211 
Caius  College,  128,  132 
Calton,  Sir  Francis,  223,  226  2*7 
Calton,  Thomas,  223 
Cam  River,  123,  126 
Camberwell  Road,  299 
Cambridge,    103,   116-136,   205. 

329 

Cambridge  Road,  213 
Cambridgeshire,  105 
Campeius,  Cardinal,  314 
Camulodonum  (see  Colchester) 
Candy,  King  of,  151 
Canterbury,  43,  47,  357-387 
Canterbury  bells,  35,  384 
Canterbury  Castle,  372,  380 
Canterbury  Cathedral,  359-371, 

376 
Canterbury,  St.  Thomas  of,  267, 

365 

Canterbury   Weavers,   378,   381 
Carlo  Dolci,  150,  239 
Caroline,  Queen,  310 
Carpenter's  Court,  282 
Carracci,  Annibale,  240 
Cartwright  Collection,  240,  243 
Cartwright,  William,  240 
Castle,  Canterbury,  380 


392 


Index 


Castle,  Chipping  Ongar,  296 

Castle,  Colchester,  256-260 

Castle,  King  Cole's  255 

Castle  Park,  256 

Castle,  Rochester,  36,  48-54,  97 

Castle,  Upnor,  54 

Castle,  Vanbrugh,  315 

Castle,  Windsor,  145,  146,  150 

Caswallon,  252 

Cathedral,  Canterbury,  359-371, 

376 

Cathedral,  Ely,  105-115,  163 
Cathedral,     Rochester,     44-48, 

106,  108,  110 
Cathedral,  St.  Albans,  165-169, 

180 

Cathedral,  Wells,  215 
Catherine  of  Aragon,  310,  314, 

319,  320,  349,  378 
Cave,  Dick  Turpin's,  213 
Cellini,  Benvenuto,  150 
Chancery,  230 
Chapel,  St.  George's,  146 
Charlemagne,  88 
Charles  I,  29,  73,  145,  275,  280, 

344,  348,  353 
Charles  II,  55,  314,  322,  323,  324, 

325 

Charles  V  of  Spain,  319,  368 
Charlotte,  Princess,  90,  91 
Charlotte,  Queen,  69 
Charter  House,  3,  328 
Chatham,  36,  37,  38,  39,  43,  55, 

312 

Chatham  Chest,  326,  331 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  72,  128,  156, 

357,  384 

Chelsea,  267,  324 
Chelsea  Embankment,  268 
Chelsea  landing,  267,  269 
Chequers  Inn,  359,  382 


Chere  Reine  Cross,  (see  Eleanor 

Cross) 

Chester,  43,  354,  381 
Chesterfield,  Lord,  310,  311 
Chesterfield  Walk,  311 
Chesterfieldian,  32 
Chews,  tombs  of,  351 
Cheyne  Walk,  3,  268 
Chiltern  Hills,  197,  200,  334 
Chingford,  203 
Chipping  Ongar,  290,  291,  292, 

296 

Chiswick  House,  271 
Cholmondeley  Walk,  75 
Christmas  Palace,  279 
Church,  Brickhill,  354 
Church,  Dunstable,  344,  349,  351 
Church,  St.  Alphege's,  376 
Church,  St.   Bartholomew's  the 

Great,  217 
Church,  St.  Benet's,    120,   122, 

136 

Church,  St.  George's,  7 
Church,  St.  Giles's,  138, 140,  263, 

299 

Church,  St.  John's,  262 
Church,  St.  Martin's,  375 
Church,  St.  Mary's,  97,  193 
Church,  St.  Mary's-at-the- Walls, 

255 

Church,  St.  Mary  the  Less,  120 
Church,  St.  Michael's,  174,  175, 

176 

Church,  St.  Mildred's,  377,  381 
Church,  St.  Pancras's,  373,  376 
Church,  St.  Sepulchre's,  132 
Church,  St.  Stephen's,  176 
Church,  Trinity,  260 
Cinque  Ports,  265 
Clapham,  248 
Clare  Bridge,  124 


Index  393 

Clare  College,  124  College,  Magdalen,  128 

Claremont,  90,  93  College,  Missionary,  371 

Clarence  Inn,  276  College,  Pembroke,  118 

Claude,  150,  239  College,  Queens',  123 

Claudius,  252,  255  College,  Royal  Naval,  327 

Claudius,  Temple  of,  253  College,  St.  Catherine's,  123 

Claypole,  Mrs.,  281  College,  St.  John's,  129,  144 

Cleves,  Anne  of,  53,  73,  332  College,  St.  Peter's,  119,  133 

Clive,  Lord,  90  College,  Trinity,  125,  128 

Cliveden,  202  Colman,  Sir  Jeremiah,  245 

Cloister  Court,  124,  126  Colne,  River,  31,  265 

Clouet,  135  Columbus,  260 

Cluniac  Priory,  222  Commonwealth,  The,  73 

Cobham,  83,  93,  94,  99  Connaught  Water,  206 

Cobham,  Henry  de,  50  Conquest,  Norman,  80,  138 

Cock  Inn,  312  Conrad,  Choir  of,  360 

Code,  Forest,  205  Constable,  18,  355 

Coel  (see  "Cole")  Constantine  the  Great,  250 

Coilus,  (see  "Cole")  Constantius,  250,  255 

Coke,  Sir  Edward,  139  Cookham,  201 
Colchester,  205,  210,  237,  255,       Cookham  Lock,  201 

245-267  "Copper  Horse,"  the,  157 
Colchester  Castle,  251,  256-260      Cornwall,  Richard  Earl  of,  29 

Colchester  oysters,  264  Corpus  Christi  College,  117 

Cole,  King,  250  Cottages,  St  Michael's,  178 

Cole's,  St.  Mary,  265,  Cottage,  Farm,  294 

Coleridge,  128  Covent  Garden,  32,  98 

Colet,  Dean,  370,  385  Correggio,  278 

"Colking's  Palace,"  251  Cranmer,  Archbishop,  128,  319, 
College,  Caius,  128,  132  349 

College,  Christ,  130  Cratendune,  108,  122 

College,  Clare,  124  Crecy,  59,  361,  363 

College,  Corpus  Christi,  117  Crimea,  384 
College,  Dulwich,  224,  228-232,       Cromwell,  Elizabeth,  281 

237,  239,  242  Cromwell,  Oliver,  112,  113,  115. 
College,  Eton,  144  127,  128,  255,  257,  259,  263, 

College  of  God's  Gift,  (see  Dul-          281 

wich  College)  Cromwell,  Richard,  219 

College  Road,  243  Cromwell,    Thomas,    261,    270, 
College,  Jesus,  132  281,  320,  321 

College,  King's,  121,  144  Crown  Inn,  49,  54 


394 


Index 


Croxted  Lane,  241 
Crystal  Palace,  243,  244-247 
Cuijp,  239 
Curfew  Tower,  147 
Cymbeline,  252 

D 

Da  Forli,  150 

Dane  John,  379,  380 

Danes,  the,  52,  109,  126,  127, 
165,  197,  208,  253,  274,  286, 
287,  288,  335,  376 

Danesfield,  197 

Dark  Entry,  371 

Datchet  Mead,  30 

Dekker,  225 

Denmark,  Anne  of,  280,  322 

Denning,  S.  P.,  239 

Derbyshire,  140 

Derbyshire,  Mr.,  343 

De  Ruyter,  37 

Derwentwater,  Earl  of,  326 

Desenfans,  238,  239,  241 

Devil's  Tower,  152 

Devonshire,  Georgiana  Duchess 
of,  275 

Dickens,  Chas.,  30,  46,  55 

Dick  Turpin,  212,  213 

Dick  Turpin's  Cave,  213 

Diocletian,  160 

Disraeli,  317 

Domesday  Book,  (Survey),  123, 
138,  200 

Dorchester  House,  201 

Dorothy  Vernon,  140,  141 

Downs,  79,  99,  336,  352 

Dover,  43,  53,  312,  334,  353,  368, 
380 

Dryden,  128 

Dudley,  Robert,  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter. 69 


Dulwich,  (Dilewich,  Dilwysshe), 

221-243 
Dulwich  Art  Gallery,  238,    239, 

240,  241,  242,  243 
Dulwich  College,  224,  227,  228, 

232,  237,  239,  242 
Dulwich  Manor,  227 
Dulwich  Park,  237,  243 
Du  Maurier,  Geo.,  23 
Dun,  or  Dunninge,  335-343 
Dunum,  885 
Dungeons,  50,  256 
Dunstable,  174,  334-353 
Dunstable  Church,  344 
Dunstan,  287,  361 
Durobrivse,  52 
Dutch  House,  69 
Dvorak,  68 
Dysart,  Earl  of,  275 

E 

Eadmund,  St.,  250,  284-289,  293 

308,  365 
East  Anglia,  108,  122,  249,  284, 

287 

Eastgate  House,  55 
Ebbe's  Fleet,  374 
Edelinck,  135 
Edgar,  109 
Edgware  Road,  15 
Edward  1, 71,  348 
Edward  II,  170, 171 
Edward  III,  22,  29,  72,  145,  156, 

171 

Edward  IV,  53, 125,  145, 146,  318 
Edward  VI,  166,  272,  281 
Edward  VII,  219 
Edward  the  Black  Prince,  361, 

362,  363,  364,  365 
Edward  the  Confessor,  80,  145, 

170,  205,  215 


Index 


395 


Eel  Pie  Island,  76,  276 

Egfrid,  108 

Eleanor  of  Cobham,  Duchess  of 

Gloucester,  304,  305,  307 
Eleanor  of  Provence,  348 
Eleanor,  (Chere  Heine)  352 
Eleanor  Cross,  218,  352 
Elephant  and  Castle  Inn,  299 
Elizabeth,    Hunting    Lodge    of 

Queen,  204,  205,  207 
Elizabeth,  Queen.  29,  37,  67,  71, 

73,  74.  75,  128,  139,  206,  223, 

278,  280,  315,  318,  326,  350, 

370 

Elstree,  160 
Ely,  102,  103,  105-115,  132,  103. 

170,  308,  365,  381 
Ely  Cathedral,  122,  163 
Ely,  Isle  of,  108,  109,  127 
Emerson,  175 
Epitaphs,    110,    111,    168,    169, 

235,  264 
Epping    Forest,    203-213,    289, 

301 

Epping  Thicks,  211 
Epping,  Town  of,  213 
Erasmus,  370,  385,  386 
Erasmus  Court,  123 
Erasmus  Tower,  123 
Ernulph,261. 
Esher,  89,  90,  147,  276 
Esher  Place,  73,  91 
Essex,  215,  249 
Essex  Forest,  170,  205,  208,  209. 

212,  219,  220.  294 
Essex,  Earl  of,  128,  348 
Ethelbert,  162,  163,  373-376 
Etheldreda,  St.,  108,  109,  114, 

163,  365,  381 

Ethelred,  King  of  Mercia,  52 
Ethelred  II.,  80 


Ethelwald,  79,  80,  96 
Eton,  30,  143,  144,  148,  193 
Evelyn,  242,  251,  326 
Eudo,  262.  263 


Fair  Mile,  93 
Fairfax,  255 
Falconer,  Lord,  281 
Falstaff,  30 
Falstaff  Inn,  382 
Farm  Cottage,  294 
Fawkes  de  Brent,  346,  347 
Fawke's  Hall  (Vauxhall),  365 
Fayrey.Henry  and  Agnes,  345 
Fenny  Stratford,  350-356 
Field,  232,  240 
Fife,  Earl  of,  153 
Fighting  Cocks  Inn,  179 
Fish  Court,  282 
Flamsteed,  324,  325 
Florence,  William  of,  98 
Foote,  241 
Forest  Court,  204 
Forest,  Father,  320,  321 
Formosa  Island,  202 
Fortescue,  John,  141 
Fortune  Theatre,  226 
Fortuny,  193 
Fountain  Court,  278 
Four  Swans  Inn,  218 
Fox-and-Hounds  Inn,  89 
Fredric,   Abbot   of   St.  Albans, 

170 

Freeman,  Prof.,  110 
Friar  Thomas,  108 
Friars  (Grey,  etc.),  377,  381 
Friars'  Chapel,  321 
Froude,  163 
Fulham,  269 
Fuller,  224,  225 


39G 


Index 


Gad's  Hill  House,  55 

Gainsborough,  18,  151,  240,  278, 
355 

Garrick,  David,  233 

Gate,  Balkon,  254 

Gate,  George  IV's,  157 

Gate,  Henry  VIII's,  146 

Gate,  Honour,  132 

Gate,  Humility,  132 

Gate,  King's,  125 

Gate,  Lion,  10 

Gate,  Monastery,  218 

Gate  of  St.  George,  368 

Gate,  Trophy,  277,  282 

Gate,  Virtue,  132 

Gate,  West,  358 

Gaunt,  John  of,  362 

Gaveston,  Piers,  170 

George  I,  75 

George  II,  77,  326 

George  III,  80,  69,  75 

George  IV,  90, 157,  310 

Georgiana,  Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire, 275 

Gibbons,  Grinling,  151 

Gillingham,  52 

Gimmett,  49 

Giorgione,  42 

Giotto,  167 

Globe  Theatre,  224,  226 

"  Gladstone,"  316-318 

Gloucester,  Eleanor,  Duchess  of, 
304,  305,  307 

Gloucester,  Humphrey,  Duke  of, 
302-308,  315,  318,  348 

Gloucester,  Jacqueline,  Duchess 
of,  303-305,  348 

Glover  Island,  76 

Godebog,  Coel,  250 

Godwin  (Godwine),  Earl,  80,  215 


Gordon,  General,  46 

Gordon  Hotel,  55 

Gorhambury  House,  175 

Gray,  Dorothy,  138 

Gray,  Thomas,  120,  137-142 

Great  Court,  126 

Great  North  Road,  354 

Greene,  232 

Greenstead,  290-296 

Greenwich,    227,   279,   297-333, 

349,  376 
Greenwich   Hospital,   316,  325- 

333 
Greenwich  Palace,  318,  319,  323. 

325-333 
Greenwich  Park,  300,  310,  314, 

323,  324 

Gregory,  373,  374,  386 
Grenta,  123 
Grentebridge,  123 
Grey  Hound  Inn,  29 
Grey,  John,  177, 178 
Grey,  Lady  Jane,  257,  272 
Grimthorpe,  Lord,  166 
Grindcobbe,  William,  171,  172 
Grosvenor  Road,  268 
Guest  Hall,  372 
Guido  Reni,  150,  240 
Guildford,  79,  80,  81,  82,  83,  96- 

99 

Guildford  Castle,  80,  97 
Guildford  Coach  (see  Reliance) 
Guildhall,  96 
Gundulph,  Bishop,  45 

H 

Haden,  Sir  Seymour,  8,  301 
Hainault  Forest,  209 
Hainault,  Isabella  of,  22,  72,  209 
Hainault,    Jacqueline,  Countess 
of,  303-305,  348 


Index 


397 


Half-moon  Lane,  236 
Halley,  Edmund,  325 
Halliwell,  222 
Ham  House,  275 
Hambleden  Lock,  195 
Hamilton,  Emma,  Lady,  330 
Hammersmith,  248,  270 
Hammersmith  Bridge,  82 
Hammersmith  Broadway,  9 
Hampstead,  86,  160 
Hampstead  Hill,  301 
Hampton  Court,  8-13,  72,  89,  91, 

144,  267,  277-283,  300,  329 
Hampton  Wick,  277 
Hampton  Wick,  Cobbler  of,  277 
Hand  of  Glory,  St.  Bridget's,  51 
"Hanlegang,"(see  Henley) 
Harbledown,  382-386 
Harold,  King,  205,  210,  214,  215, 

216,  217,  218,  382 
Harold  Hardrada,  216 
Harrow-on-the-Hill,  149 
Hastings,  52,  214,  216 
Harvey,  128 

Heglisdune  (see  Hill  of  Eagles) 
Helena,  St.,  250,  254,  255 
Hengist  and  Horsa,  374 
Henley,  30,  273,  181-195 
Henley  Bridge,  184 
Henley  Regatta,  185-195 
Henrietta  Maria,  73,  280,  322 
Henry,  Duke  of  Normandy,  345 
Henry  I.,  45,  71,  74, 145,  222,  335 

343 

Henry  II,  51,  266,  296,  364 
Henry  III,  348 

Henry  IV,  29,  53, 153,  313,  361 
Henry  V,  74,  154,  156,  302,  313 
Henry  VI,  72,177,  302,306,  307 
Henry  VII,  72,  74,  75,  260,  312, 

351 


Henry  VIH.  45,  53,  72,  73,  125, 
147.  166,  198,  211,  223,  261, 
272,  279,  280,  281,  282,  310, 
314,  318,  332,  349,  368,  370, 
378 

Henry  the  Timid  (see  Henry 
VI.) 

Hentzner,  322 

Hepplewhite,  135 

Hereward,  110 

Herne's  Oak,  149 

Herne  Hill,  227,  237 

Herne  the  Hunter,  149 

Herringbone  Masonry,  253,  259 

Hertfordshire,  166,  215 

High  Beach,  203,  208,  210 

High  St.,  9,  44,  54,  113,  213, 
379 

Hill  of  Eagles,  286,  288 

Hobbema,  179,  240 

Hobbes,  Thomas,  349 

Hobson,  Thomas,  128 

Hobson's  Choice,  128 

Holbein,  150 

Holinshed,  173,  306 

Holmhurst  Hill,  161, 174 

Holyhead,  334 

Holy  Land,  47,  254,  284 

"Holy  Maid  of  Kent"  (see 
Barton,  Elizabeth) 

Home  Park,  282,  283 

Hook,  Theodore,  277 

Hope  Theatre,  224 

Hoppner,  329 

Horse-Chestnut  Sunday,   282 

Horseshoe  Cloisters,  146 

Hospital,  Archbishop  Abbot's,  96 

Hospital,  St.  John's,  378 

Hotel,  Abbey,  197 

Hotel,  Angel,  81 

Hotel,  Gordon,  55 


398 


Index 


Hotel,  Lion,  99 

Hotel,  Pack  Horse,  32,  59 

Hotel,  Royal  Fountain,  358 

Hotel,  Talbot,  95 

Hotel,  Victoria,  81,  82,  101 

Hounslow  Heath,  212 

Howard,  Katherine,  272 

Hoxne,  288 

Hudson,  Jeffrey,  278 

Huguenots,  269,  379 

Hume,  Rev.  James,  236 

Humphrey,  "  dining  with' '  Duke 
315 

Humphrey,  Duke  of  Gloucestei, 
302-308,  315,  318 

Hundred  Steps,  148 

Hunstantone,  285 

Hunting  Lodge,  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's, 204,  205,  207 

Huntingdon,  139, 140 

Huntingdon,  Robin  of,  212 

Hurley  Lock,  198 

Hurlingham,  100 

Hurlingham  Club,  8,  269 

Hyde,  Alice,  347 

Hyde,  Lord  Alan  de,  347 

Hyde  Park,  3 

Hyde  Park  Corner,  274 

Hythe,  264 


Iceni,  210,  211 

Icknield  Way,  335 

Ingoldsby  Legends,  51 

Inn,  Bear,  90,  91 

Inn,  Bell,  105 

Inn,  Chequers,  359,  382 

Inn,  Clarence,  276 

Inn,  Cock,  213 

Inn,  Elephant  and  Castle,  299 

Inn,  Falstaff,  382 


Inn,  Fighting  Cocks,  179 

Inn,  Four  Swans,  218 

Inn,  Fox-and-Hounds,  89,  277 

Inn,  Grey  Hound,  29 

Inn,  King's  Oak,  210 

Inn,  Old  Ship,  316 

Inn,  Peahen,  165 

Inn,  Red  Lion,  185,  344,  354 

Inn,  Star  &  Garter,  78,  275 

Inn,  Sugar  Loaf,  350 

Inn,  Swan,  277,  355 

Inn,  White  Hart,  182 

Inn,  White  Lion,  94,  96 

Inness,  George,  355 

Irving,  Henry,  363 

Isabella  of  Hainault,  22,  72 

Isabella  of  Parma,  170 

Island,  Eel  Pie,  76 

Island,  Formosa,  202 

Island,  Glover,  76 

Island,  Magna  Charta,  30 

Island,  Monkey,  22 

Isle  of  Dogs,  332 

Isle  of  Ely,  108,  109,  127 

Isle  of  Thanet,  39,  53,  374 

Isleworth,  272,  273 

Isleworth  Ferry,  70 

Islington,  248 


Jacqueline,    Countess   of   Hain- 
ault, 303-305,  348 
James  I.,  53,  219,  223, 278,  322 
James  II.,  37,  55,  198,  276 
Janssen,  278 
Jesus  College,  132 
Joan,  Fair  Maid  of  Kent,  365 
John,  King,  49,  53,  127,  145,  209. 

260,  343 

Jones,  Inigo,  227,  322 
Jonson,  Ben,  128,  226,  232 


Index 


399 


Kai-ho,  70 

Katherine,  Queen,  156 
Kennington  Common,  87 
Kennington  Park,  £99 
Kensington,  82,  270,  323 
Kensington  Gardens,  148 
Kent,  34,  44,  52,  55,  56,  171,  243, 

374 

Ketul,  Ulf,  287 
Kew  (Kew  Gardens),  67-71,  211, 

272 

Khalifa,  Flag  of,  151 
Kimbolton,  350 
King  Coles  Castle,  255 
King  Cole's  Kitchen,  253,  264 
King  Edward's  Tower,  126 
King  John,  49,  53,  127,  145,  209, 

260,  343 
King,  Tom,  212 
King  William  Street,  331 
King's  College,  120,  121 
King's  Oak,  145,  210 
King's  Oak  Inn,  210 
King's  Parade,  121,  124 
King's  School,  371 
Kingsbury  Palace,  339,  343 
Kingsley,  Henry,  38 
Kingston,  87,  88,  277 
Kitchener,  Lord,  151 
Kneller,  151 
Knut,  215 


La  Hogue,  325 

Lady   Wooton's    Green    House, 

380 

Lambeth  Palace,  313 
Lanfranc,  170,  382,  383 
Langton,  Stephen,  347,  361 
Lansdowne,  Marquis  of,  78 


Lauderdale,  Duchess  of,  276 

Lawrence,  Sir  Thomas,  151   240 

Lea,  River,  208,  210,  214,  215 

Le  Bret,  367 

Lee,  Sir  Henry,  314 

Lee,  Sir  Richard,  166 

Lee,  Sir  Robert,  223,  227 

Lely,  Sir  Peter,  151,  278 

Le  Notre,  323 

Leopold,  90,  91,  147 

Lewis,  John,  77 

Lexden,  264 

Lincoln,  bishop  of,  319,  352 

Linley,    Rev.    Ozias    Thurston, 

231,  232,  240,  241 
Linnaeus,  86 
Lion  Gate,  10 
Lion  Hotel,  99 
Lisle,  237,  257,  263 
Lodbrog,  Ragnar,  286 
Lollards,  351 
Lombards,  88 
London,  bishop  of,  319 
London  Bridge,  266,  267 
London  Road,  311 
London  Stone,  170 
Long  Walk,  157 
Lord  Mayor's  Drive,  142 
Lord's  (cricket  ground),  5 
Louis,  Dauphin  of  France,  53 
Louis  VII.  of  France,  367 
Lower  Green,  91 
Lucas,  237,  257,  263,  264 
Luncheon  basket,  103, 104 
Lydgate,  306 

M 

Macaulay,  Lord,  90,  328 
Maes  Gwyn,  334 
Magdalene  College,  128 
Magna  Charta,  104,  266.  274 


400 


Index 


Magna  Charta  Island,  30 
Maid  of  Honor's  Garden,  154, 

156 
Maidenhead,  18-21,  26,  29,  182, 

199 

Maidenhead  Bridge,  29 
Maiden's  Tower,  152 
Maids  of  Honor  Row,  75 
Mandeville,  Geoffrey  de,  198 
Mandubratius,  252 
Manor  of  Pleasaunce,  321 
Mansfield,  Richard,  302 
Mansion  House,  103,  289  291 
Manuel,  Emperor  of  Constanti- 
nople, 312 

Margate  steamer,  297,  298 
Margaret  of  Anjou,  177 
Margaret,  Queen,  307 
Market,  98,   116,  164,  213,  351, 

379 

Marlow,  200 
Marlowe,  Kit,  232 
"Martyrdom,"  the,  363,  364 
Mary,  bower  of  Queen,  1 1 
Mary,  Princess,  147,  370 
Mary,  Queen,  30,  73,  257,  280, 

318,  325,  328 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  73 
Maske  performed  at  Greenwich 

Palace,  318 

Masonry,  herringbone,  253 
Master  of  Fox  Hounds,  100 
Masters,  Richard,  377,  378 
Maud,  Empress,  114 
Mayfair,  4,  248 
Maze,  Hampton  Court,  12 
Medmenham  Abbey,  197 
Medway,  River,  36,  38,  39, 48, 52 
Mercia,  29,  160 
Mendelssohn,  68 
Mercury  Lane,  359,  381 


Mews,  Royal,  157 

Middlesex,  228 

Millais,  Sir  John  E.,  144 

Milton,  128,  129 

Miraflores,  or  Mirefleur,  303 

Molyns,  Sir  John  de,  140 

Monastery  Gateway,  218 

Monkey  Island,  22 

Montacute,  216 

Montacute,    William,    Earl    of 

Salisbury,  198 
Montague  House,  310,  311 
Moore,  Sir  J.,  324 
Morality    acted    at    Greenwich 

Palace,  319 
More,  Sir  Thomas,  378 
Mortimer,  171,  312 
Mortlake,  270 
Mozart,  68 
Murillo,  239 
Murray,  William,  276 
Museum,  Colchester  Castle,  258, 

259 

Museum,  Fitzwilliam,  119 
Museum,      Queen      Elizabeth's 

Hunting  Lodge,  204 
Mytens,  278 

N 

Najara,  361 
Naseby,  344,  348 
Nash,  225 

Nelson,  Lord,  329,  330 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  128,  325 
Norfolk,  Duke  of,  91,  314 
Norman  Conquest  (see  Conquest) 
Normans,  25,  44,  49,  52,  80,  98, 
104,  106,  113,  132,  165,  167, 
198,  214,  216,  253,  261,  351, 
371 
Northcote,  241 


Index 


401 


Norwood,  221,  237,  243,  244 

Northumberland,  272 

O 

Observants,  320,  378 
Odo,  Bishop  of  Bayeux,  52 
Offa,  Bang  of  East  Anglia,  160, 

162,  163,  250,  284,  285 
Old  Crome,  355 
"Old  King  Cole,"  250 
Old  Ship  Tavern,  316 
Olympia,  100,  158 
Ongar  (see  Chipping  Ongar) 
Orange,  Prince  of,  195 
Orleans  House,  276 
Ouse,  River,  114 
Ovinus,  109 

Oxford  "Divinity  School,"  305 
Oxford  Street,  15 
Oxford  University,  305 


Pack  Horse  Hotel,  32, 59 

Paddington,  2,  15,  181 

Painted  Hall,  329 

Palace  Gardens,  296 

Pall,  the  Crimson,  345,  346 

Palma  Vecchio,  119,  279 

Paris  Garden,  226 

Paris,  Matthew,  164 

Park,  Greenwich,  300,  310,  314 

Park,  Old  Deer,  70 

Parnell,  James,  257 

Payne,  Tom,  155 

Peahen  Inn,  165 

Peckham,  300 

Peele,  232 

Pembroke  College,  118 

Pepys,  128,  323 

Pepys,  Mary,  237 

Penn,  John,  140 


Penn,  Thomas,  139 

Penn,  William,  139 

Perth,  William  of,  275 

Peter,  Chaplain,  266 

Peterhouse  (see  St.  Peter's  Col- 
lege) 

Petersham  Meadows,  275 

Peto,  Father,  321,  328 

Pevensey,  217 

Philip  of  Spain,  280 

Philippa,  Queen,  22,  72, 156 

Philippe,  Louis,  90,  276 

Phyllis  Court,  185,  186,  189, 
191,  192,  193,  194,  195 

Piccadilly,  5,  10,  82,  100,  267 

Piers  Gaveston.  170 

Pitt,  William,  86,  128 

Placentia,  Palace  of,  303, 318, 326 

Poitiers,  361 

Pope,  315 

Poplars,  legend  of,  24 

Port  George,  285 

Princess  Amelia,  77 

Prior's  Gateway,  371 

Priory,  Carthusian,  75 

Priory  of  St.  Andrew,  50,  54 

Priory,  St.  Botolph,  253,  261 

Priory  of  St.  Peter,  343 

Priory  of  Sheen,  74 

Protector,  see  Cromwell 

Puritans,  the,  45 

Putney,  86,  270 

Putney  Bridge,  269 

Putney  Heath,  86 

Putney  Hill,  86 

Q 

Quarry  Hall,  200 
Quarry  Wood,  200 
Queen       Elizabeth's       Hunting 
Lodge,  204,  205,  207 


402 


Index 


Queenhythe,  224 
Queens'  College,  123 
Queen's  House,  322,  324,  327 
Queen's  Oak,  208,  210 
Quentin  Matsys,  146 

R 

Rainham,  35-43,  52 

Rainharu  Vicarage,  40,  41,  42 

Raleigh,  322 

Ranelagh  Club,  8,  270 

Ranger's  House,  310,  315 

Raphael,  239 

Redcliffe  Gardens,  4 

Red  Lion  Inn,  185,  344,  354 

Reformation,  260,  370,  372 

Regale  of  France,  368,  370 

Regent  St.,  10 

"Reliance"  Coach,  81,  82,  96, 

98.  100,  158,  277 
Rembrandt,  119, 150, 199,  239 
Restoration,  281,  314 
Restoration  House,  55 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  78,  239,278 
Rhododendron  Dell,  70 
Richard,  King  of  Germany,  348 
Richard,  1, 206,  361 
Richard  II,  29,  71, 128, 173 
Richard  III,  128 
Richmond,  8,  70-78,  275,  314 
Richmond  Bridge,  76 
Richmond  Palace,  73 
Richmond  Park,  77 
Richmond  Terrace,  78 
Ridley,  128 
Ripley,  95 

Robert  of  Normandy,  52 
Robin  Hood,  12,  139,  143,  212 
Rochester,  36,  37,  44-56,  97,  106, 

110,  262,  276,  332 
Rochester  Castle,  36,  48-54,  97 


Rochester    Cathedral,    45,    106, 

108,  110 
Roehampton,  84 
Roman  bricks,  166,  253,  375 
Roman  relics,  113,  114,  257 
Roman  Road,  93,  114,  169,  294, 

334,  353,  355 

Roman  station,  80,  160, 173,251 
Roman  Villa,  315 
Roman  Wall,  174,  253 
Romano,  Giulio,  236 
Romans,  50,  173,  208,  210,  211, 

251,  253,  258,  334,  335,  354 
Romans,  bridge  of,  50 
Romney,  231 
Roscius,  225 
Rose  Theatre,  223 
Rothsay,  153 
Rotten  Row,  3 
Round  Church,  132 
Round  Tower,  152 
Row,  Maids  of  Honor,  75 
Royal  Ascot,  57-66, 157, 158 
Royal  Chapel,  320,  321 
Royal  Enclosure,  61,  63 
Royal  Engineers,  39,  46 
Royal  Forest  of  Essex,  209 
Royal  Forest  of  Waltham,  209 
Royal  Fountain  Hotel,  358 
Royal  Mews,  the,  157 
Royal  Naval  College,  327 
Royal  Oak,  27 
Royal  Observatory,  303 
Rubens,  149,  240 
Ruijsdael,  240 
Runnymede,  31, 145 
Ruskin,  135, 175 


"Sabrina's  Stream,"  31 
Sanguelac  (see  Hastings) 


Index 


403 


Salisbury,  Earl  of,  177 
Salisbury,    William    Montacute, 

Earl  of,  198 
Savonarola,  260 
Saxons,  25,  52,  88,  110,  120,  127, 

138,  165,  208,  215,  253,  262, 

285,  373,  374,  375 
Saxon  church,  109,  296 
Saxon  doorway,  260,  375 
St.  Albans,  72,  164,  165,  170-173 
St.  Alban's  Abbey,  160,  163-180, 

263,  306,  307,  347,  348,  349 
St.  Alban's  Cathedral,  165,  180 
St.  Alphege's,  376 
St.  Andrew,  Convent  of,  373, 374 
St.  Andrew,  Priory  of,  50 
St.  Anne  de  Beaupre,  168 
St.  Augustine,  108,  122,  371-376 
St.  Augustine's  Abbey,  372,  376 
St.  Awdrey  (see  Etheldreda) 
St.  Bartholomew's  the  Great,  3t 

217 

St.  Benet's  Church,  120,  122,  136 
St.  Botolph's  Priory,  261 
St.  Botolph's  without  Bishops- 
gate,  227,  228 
St.  Bridget,  51 
St.  Catherine's  College,  123 
St.  Catherine's  Hall,  99 
St.  Edmund  (see  Eadmund) 
St.  Edmundsbury,  260,  286,  288 
St.  Ethelbert's  Tower,  372 
St.  Etheldreda  (see  Etheldreda) 
St.  George,  Chapel  of,  145 
St.  George's  Church,  7 
St.  George,  Gate  of,  368 
St.  George's  Hall,  150 
St.  Giles  (Camberwell),  228 
St.  Giles  (without  Cripplegate), 

299 
St.  Giles's  Church,  138,  140,  263 


St.  John,  345 

St.  John's  Abbey,  263,  264 

St.  John's  Church,  262 

St.  John's  College,  129,  144 

St.  John,  fraternity  of,  344,  347 

St.  John's  Green,  262 

St.  John's  Hospital,  378 

St.  John's  Street,  135 

St.  Mary  Cole's,  266 

St.  Mary's  Church,  97,  193 

St.  Mary-the-Less,  Church  of.  120 

St.  Mary  Magdalen,  Church  of, 

377 

St.  Mary's-at-the-Walls,  255 
St.  Martin's  Church,  375 
St.  Michael's  Church,  174,  175, 

176 

St.  Michael,  order  of,  819 
St.  Mildred's  Church,  377,  381 
St.  Nicholas  almhouses,  383 
St.  Pancras's  Church  373,  376 
St.  Pancras  (Station),  159 
St.  Paul's,  10,  221,  307 
St.  Paul's  School,  318 
St.  Peter-in-Chains,  339 
St.  Peter's  College,  119,  133 
St.  Peter,  Priory  of,  343 
St.  Savior's,  228 
St.  Sepulchre's  Church,  132 
St.  Sepulchre,  nunnery  of,  377 
St.  Stephen's  Church,  176 
St.  Thomas  a  Becket,  267,  360- 

369,  381 

"St.  Thomas's  Crown,"  371 
St.  Ursula,  251 

Schene    or    Sheen,    71.    72,    75 
Schene,  Palace  of,  72 
Sheen,  Priory  of,  74 
Scheregate  Steps,  253,  260 
School   of   Naval    Architecture, 

327 


404 


Index 


Scotland  Yard,  213 

Scott,  Sir  Gilbert,  46,  106,  146 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  76,  295,  347 

Senate  House,  129 

Senior  Wrangler,  129,  131,  133, 

134 

Seymour,  Jane,  147, 281 
Sexburga,  109 
Shakspeare,  175,  184,  224,  225, 

232,  234,  280,  305,  306,  308 
Sheerness,  37 
Shelley,  200 
Sheridan,  Mrs.,  241 
Sherwood  Forest,  142,212 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  239 
Sigebert,  123 
Sigismund,  313 
"Signs,"  382 
Simeon,  Abbot,  110 
Simon  de  Montfort,  348 
Sion  (Syon),  74 
Sion  Abbey,  272 
Sion  House,  272, 321 
Skelton,  235,  280 
Slough,  140 
Sly,  232 
Smithfield,  3 
Snow  Hill,  157 
Somerset,  Duke  of,  177 
Somerset  House,  268 
Somerset,  Jane,  155,  156,  302 
Sop  well  Nunnery,  179 
Spenser,  119,  128,  129 
Staines,  28,  31,  32,  59 
Standard,  Essex  County,  254 
Stanislaus,  King  of  Poland,  238, 

239,241 

Stanley,  Dean,  385 
Staple,  335 

Star  and  Garter  Inn,  78,  275 
Station,  Bishopsgate,  289 


Station,  High  Level,  244 
Station,  Liverpool  Street,  289 
Station,  Low  Level,  247 
Station,    Mansion    House,    103, 

289,  291 

Station,  Paddington,  2,  15,  18 
Station,  Roman,  80, 160, 173,  251 
Station,  St.  Pancras,  159 
Station,  Victoria,  222 
Stephen,  Abbot  of  York,  263 
Stephen,  King,  114,  343 
Stepney,  248 
Stewart,  James,   152,   153,   154, 

155,  156,  302 
Stoches,  Wm.,  139 
Stoke  Common,  142 
Stoke  D'Abernon,  94 
Stoke  Park,  139,  142, 149 
Stoke  Poges,  120,  137-142 
Stour,  River,  374,  379,  381 
Strand,  the,  219 
Strand-on-the-Green,  271 
Stratford-atte-bow,  292 
Strawberry  Hill,  276 
Stream  of  Pleasure,  181,  271 
Sudbury,  Archbishop  Simon  of, 

362,  379 

Suetonius,  165,  210,  354 
Suffolk,  346 
Suffolk,  Duke  of,  307 
Sugar  Loaf  Inn,  350 
Surbiton,  88,  89 
Surrey,  79,  85,  90,  99,  151,  222, 

268 

Surrey,  Duke  of,  29 
Swan  Inn,  277,  355 
Swan  Theatre,  224 
"Sweet  Kate,"  155,  302 
Sweyn,  288 
Swift,  315 
Sydenham,  243 


Index 


405 


Sydenham  Hill,  227 
Sydnam  Wells,  242 
Syences,  71 
Syon  House  (see  Sion  House) 


Talbot  Hotel,  95 

Taplow,  29,  30 

Taplow  Wood,  21 

Taylor,  Ann,  263 

Taylor,  Jane,  263 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  128 

Taylor,  "the  water  poet,"  224 

Temple,  the,  3,  135,  268,  328 

Temple  Bar,  218,  219 

Temple  House,  199 

Temple  Lock,  199 

Teniers,  239 

Tennyson,  363 

Terrace  Gardens,  76 

Thames  Ditton,  277 

Thames,  River,  8,  18-33,  59,  73, 
76,  88,  144,  148,  181,  195-202, 
205,  223,  265,  266-277,  282, 
301,  303,  316,  320,  330 

Thanet,  Isle  of,  39,  53,  374 

Thanet,  lord  of,  42 

Thetford,  287,  288 

Theobald's  Park,  219,  220 

Thomas,  Friar,  108,  222 

Thompson,  the  one-eyed  gunner, 
255 

Thornhill,  Sir  James,  328 

Tickell,  Mrs.,  241 

Tilsworth,  William,  351 

Titian,  119,  150 

Tonbert,  108 

Touraine,  Duke  of,  303 

Tovy  or  Tofig,  215,  216 

Tower,  the,  3,  133,  146,  147,  319 

Tower,  Bell  Harry,  371 


Tower  Hill,  262 

Tower,  St.  Ethelbert's,  372 

Trafalgar,  330 

Triposes,  133 

Trinity  Church,  260 

Trinity  College,  123,  128 

Trinity  Street,  124 

Trooping  of  the  Colors,  7 

Trophy  Gate,  277,  282 

Trumpington  Street,  124 

Tschaikowsky,  68 

Tupper,  Martin,  70 

Turner,  268,  301 

Turpin,  Dick,  212,  213 

Twickenham,  276,  314 

Twickenham  Ait,  76 

Twickenham  Ferry,  276 

Tyburn,  3,  378 

Tyler, Wat,  171, 172, 311,  349,362 

U 
Ulsig,  Abbot  of  St.  Albans,  174. 

176 

Upnor  Castle,  38,  54 
"  Uranienborg,"  324 


Vanbrugh  "Castle,"  315 

Vanbrugh,  Sir  John,  315,  316 

Van  der  Werff,  240 

Van  Dyck,  73,  150,  151,  239 

Van  Ghent,  37 

Vauxhall,  365 

Velasquez,  239 

Ver,  river,  161,  173,  174,  178 

Vernon,  Dorothy,  140,  141 

Vernon,  Roger,  141 

Veronese,  119 

Verulam,  160,  161, 173 

Veruiam,  Lord,  (see  Bacon) 

Verulamium,  160 


406 


Index 


Victoria  Hotel,  81,  82,  101 

Victoria,  Queen,  69,  91,  150, 
208,  210,  219,  239,  350 

Victoria,  (Station),  222 

Villiers,  George,  (see  Bucking- 
ham, Duke  of) 

Vines  Recreation  Ground,  54 

W 
Wales,  Prince  of   (see  Edward, 

the  Black  Prince) 
Wallingford,  Richard  of,  171 
Walloons,  379 

Walpole,  Horace,  242,  276,  314 
Walsingham,  Alan  do,  107 
Walter,  Hubert,  361 
Waltham  Abbey,  213-217 
Waltham  Blacks,  213 
Waltham  Cross,  218 
Waltham,  Royal  Forest  of,  209 
Waltham  Waste,  212 
Walton,  Izaac,  214,  377 
Wandsworth,  269 
Wardens,  209 

Warham,  Archbishop,  368,  377 
Warwick,  Earl  of,  177 
Washington,  George,  tablets  of 

family  of,  120 
Waterloo,  87 
Waterloo  Station,  283 
Waterloo  Tree,  258 
Watling  Street,  the,  43,  47,  53, 

160,  170,  174,  311,  314,  335, 

350,  368,  376, 
Watt's  Charity  House,  55 
Wayneflete,  William  of,  91 
Wealdham,  (Waltham),  215 
Weavers,  Canterbury,  378,  381 
Weldon,  Sir  Anthony,  53 
Weldon,  Walker,  49,  53,  242.  258 
Weller,  Sam,  42 


Wells,  Bishop  of,  319 

Wells  Cathedral,  215 

Wendover,  Roger  of,  164,  222 

Wesley,  John,  87 

Wessex,  Egbert  of,  88 

West,  Bishop,  112 

West  Gate,  358 

Westminster  Abbey,  3,  145,  151, 
198,  361,  362 

Westminster  Bridge,  268 

Westminster  Palace,  8,  268,  369 

Wey,  river,  79,  99 

Wheely,  John,  258 

Whethampstead,  170 

Whethampstead  (Abbot),  304 

Whistler,  8,  268 

White  Hart  Inn,  182,  193,  194 

White  Lion  Inn,  94,  96 

Whitebait,  317 

Whitefield,  87 

Whitehall,  227,  280 

Wick  House,  78 

Wilfrid,  Bishop  of  York,  109 

William,  the  Conqueror  (William 
of  Normandy, — the  Incendi- 
ary,— the  Grabber,  etc.),  52, 
80, 108, 110, 127, 145, 170,  205, 
217 

William,  King,  325,  328 

William  III,  281 

William  of  Nassau,  198 

William  of  Perth,  46,  47,  275 

William  Rufus,  (William  the 
Red,  etc.),  52,  262 

William  of  Wykeham,  145 

Wimbledon  Common,  87 

Winchester,  Bishop  of,  91,  319 

Windle  Shore,  27 

Windsor,  8,  27,  28,  29,  31,  144. 
154,  211,  227,  272,  278,  301, 
329 


Indejc 


407 


Windsor  Castle,  145,  140,    !.>() 

Windsor  Forest,  149,  154 

Windsor  Lock,  29 

Windsor  Park,  145 

Witanagemot,  88 

\Voburn  Abbey,  350 

Wolfe,  314 

Wolsey,  Cardinal,  72,  73,  Ul,  219, 

261,  279,  281,  332,  368 
Wolsey's  Chapel,  1 18 
Wolsey's  Closet,  279 
Wolsey's  Palace,  278,  279 
"Wooden  Spoon,"  129,  133,  134 


Woodward,  Joan,  227,  233,  236, 

242 

Wordsworth,  25,  135 
Wren,  Sir  Christopher,  106,  219, 

281,  326 

Wyatt,  Sir  Jeffry,  146 
Wyk,  De  la,  222 
Wykeham,  William  of,  362 


Yewden,  196 
York,  Duke  of,  177 


A     000  678  374     o 


